


Void & Null

by bootson



Series: Cages Verse [2]
Category: Bandom, Black Cards, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, Gym Class Heroes, My Chemical Romance, Panic At The Disco, The Academy Is...
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Regency, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angst, Get Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-13
Updated: 2011-06-13
Packaged: 2017-10-21 22:18:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bootson/pseuds/bootson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six months after Brendon somehow managed to convince his new owner, Baronet Beckett, and household manager McCoy to rescue (read: buy) Spencer from a traveling sales house, Spencer is still trying to remember how "calm" and unobtrusive everyne is. It's a daily struggle that Spencer usually loses, but it's getting harder to stay guarded around this bunch, especially when they've taken to pandering to Brendon's whims and Bob's become some sort of stoic personal guard. Still yet, Spencer can't shake the lessons experience has taught him or the painful reminder that Ryan and Jon are still lost somewhere, possibly too far away to be found.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Void & Null

**Author's Note:**

> Additional warnings: Slavery, discussions of sex slavery (non-explicit), past physical and metal abuse, polyamory, swearing, sex (mild biting, facials, barebacking)  
> This is technically a sequel to [In The Back of Your Head](http://bootson.livejournal.com/26360.html) (word count: ~10K), but you shouldn't need to read that to understand everything in this. Title is from "Void & Null" by The Pretty Reckless.
> 
> My eternal gratitude goes to [](http://pikasafire.livejournal.com/profile)[**pikasafire**](http://pikasafire.livejournal.com/) for being the _only_ reason the prequel exists, going through this more than once to make it a million times better, and listening to me ramble about this 'verse way more than necessary. My heart goes to [](http://auctorial.livejournal.com/profile)[**auctorial**](http://auctorial.livejournal.com/) for not trying to kill me for my hatred of commas and also flailing enough that I didn't decide to scrap the entire thing. My darling [](http://chellealistic.livejournal.com/profile)[**chellealistic**](http://chellealistic.livejournal.com/) gets a huge "thank you" for trying to beta even though she knows next to nothing about the boys. Also, [](http://dr-jasley.livejournal.com/profile)[**dr_jasley**](http://dr-jasley.livejournal.com/) deserves internet hugs for listening to me ramble on and on even though she actually has no idea what happens in this fic. I'm sure I've forgotten someone who was very important during this whole process; so if I've forgotten you, I'm sorry and I still love you to pieces!  
>  Plus, a huge "thanks" to my mixers ([](http://stardustonsable.livejournal.com/profile)[ **stardustonsable**](http://stardustonsable.livejournal.com/) and [](http://cincodemaygirl.livejournal.com/profile)[**cincodemaygirl**](http://cincodemaygirl.livejournal.com/) ) and artist ([](http://asmallbluedot.livejournal.com/profile)[ **asmallbluedot**](http://asmallbluedot.livejournal.com/) ) for creating some of the most amazing things ever to exist! They deserve all the praise the internet has to offer! Finally, lots of love to the [](http://bandombigbang.livejournal.com/profile)[**bandombigbang**](http://bandombigbang.livejournal.com/) mods for pulling this together, being organized, and their general awesome-ness.

  
**[PROLOGUE]**   


“Why are we wearing our thinky face this morning?”

Spencer was on his knees on the marble floor of Baronet Beckett’s foyer, staring unblinkingly at the horizon. That morning had been the first where Spencer had missed the sunset; he sort of regretted not seeing the sky with its warm colors instead of the flat blue. There were no clouds; it had only rained once since Spencer had arrived. The weather had this way of never matching Spencer’s emotions, and it was nerve-grating.

He turned his head, pressing his cheek to the smooth surface of the windowpane to look up at Brendon. Spencer shrugged and tried to dig up a smile for him.

“I didn’t realize I was.” Spencer really hadn’t. He’d been very focused on not thinking about anything.

Brendon shifted on his feet, did this little hop he always did when he was trying to restrain himself. “Want some company?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Before the words were even out of his mouth, Brendon was on the floor beside him. Spencer tried and failed not to wince at the way Brendon threw himself around without any regard for how he might injure himself. It was nice, though, that Brendon didn’t worry about that anymore, that he didn’t have to be so careful not to hurt himself if he didn’t want to be sold.

Brendon wedged himself up close, claiming Spencer’s space as his own. Spencer didn’t mind sharing his windowsill, never minded sharing with Brendon. He turned to look at nothing again, not even jumping when Brendon rested one arm on the window and reached for Spencer’s hand with the other.

They sat as quietly as Brendon could manage while the rest of the estate woke up around them. Brendon squeezed Spencer’s fingers when the voices from the kitchen finally reached them. He rested his head on Spencer’s shoulder and sighed, this soft puff of air that said a lot more than words ever could.

“Bren?” Spencer waited for Brendon to hum at him before continuing. “You like it here, right? Even if we’re the only...”

“Slaves?” Brendon whispered the word as softly as he could. “They’re good here. They never yell, or not at me, anyway. And Bill came to get you just because I asked.”

The way he pressed closer, curled a little more into Spencer’s side, meant he’d done more than ask. Spencer wanted to beg Brendon to tell him about that night, about whatever Brendon had done after he’d seen Spencer locked in the too-small cage with the same traveling sales house where Tom had bought Brendon. In the past three weeks, Spencer had learned really quickly that Brendon had deemed the topic _not up for discussion_.

Spencer pulled his hand away but wrapped his arm around Brendon’s shoulders quickly. “They... seem okay. But I don’t...”

“It’s almost like being at Saporta’s again,” Brendon whispered. He hid his face against Spencer’s neck. “Except.”

“Except for Ryan and Jon, yeah.” Spencer pressed a soft kiss to Brendon’s hair when Brendon shuddered, just a little. If they hadn’t been touching all along one side, Spencer probably would have missed it; Brendon was ridiculously good at hiding things.

“Tom’s still looking. He writes to me a lot, tells me about all the feelers he and Sean are putting out at every port _Empires_ docks at.” He dragged the words out until the apology sounded less sad than it should have.

Spencer hugged him again and started to say _something_. He wanted to be comforting like Jon or stoic like Ryan, but it had been over half a year since Spencer had last seen them in the back of a buyer’s carriage. Their faces had almost faded completely from memory at this point - during waking hours, at least.

There were footsteps, closer than the others that had been stomping around on the stairs or down the hall all morning. Spencer started to tense, arm locking tighter around Brendon until Brendon quietly squeaked. How stupid was Spencer these days? Letting himself get so wrapped up in his own worries that he left his back - and more importantly, Brendon’s - unprotected. He had to stop forgetting every fucking thing he’d learned.

The shoes stopped clicking against the floor, and a low, deep voice called out to them. “Bill’s looking for you.”

A tiny wave of relief washed over Spencer. He felt his entire body start to loosen because it was only Bob. He was as much of a stranger as the others, but he was a former slave, freed like the apparent majority of Beckett’s staff. Plus, this was the same guy who let Brendon crawl all over him when storms hit, the thunder loud enough to shake the windows and lightning striking so brightly the world momentarily flashed. Bob took care of Brendon when Spencer wasn’t there and that meant something.

“Which one?” Brendon asked, already struggling away and to his feet.

“Both?” Bob shrugged. “I think he has a present for Spencer.”

Spencer fell against the wall; the stupid shoes Pete had made for him were too slippery for the floors someone always kept waxed. He definitely had _not_ startled at the implication that an owner wanted to _give_ him something. Brendon grabbed his arm to help him to his feet and Spencer had to force himself not to shrug his hands away.

“Why?” He knew he sounded suspicious but he didn’t care.

Bob stared at him. “I don’t know. He’s in the office. Ask him yourself.” He turned to lead them toward the back of the house.

Beckett’s office was the last room in the wing. According to Ray, it was because the room overlooked the stables and Bill liked watching the horses. Butcher swore it was because Beckett liked mocking Siska and Frank when they were trying to train the aforementioned horses. It didn’t make a difference to Spencer, either way.

The redwood door was open and Bob ushered them in before pulling it shut behind them. Spencer tried not to look like he was cataloguing his surroundings, but it was habit. He hadn’t been invited into the office before and he wanted to know where everything was, just in case. It was always best to be proactive and on your toes until you figured out new owners; at least, that was Spencer’s theory.

Travis was standing beside the window, looking bored and unimposing in a way someone roughly eight feet tall never should. Beckett was sitting behind his desk, feet kicked up on the edge and wrinkling the pages of what Spencer thought were budget ledgers.

“You wanted to see us?” Brendon asked when Spencer stood there like an idiot without saying anything.

“Mostly Spencer Smith, here, but this is for you, too,” Beckett grinned. He wasn’t scary, not in the classic sense. Beckett had wavy hair and bright smiles, wide gestures and an open expression. Spencer didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him. “So, you’ve been around the estate, right? Brendon showed you everything?”

Spencer nodded.

Beckett sighed. He swung his feet down and leaned his forearms on the desk. “So you’ve seen the fieldhouses?” This time, he didn’t pause for a reaction, apparently too excited. “They’re sort of falling apart. Frank, Gerard, and Mikey took over the one that needed the least work, and Bob and Ray fixed the other one. But we have two more. The one out by the back pasture doesn’t have much of a roof anymore, but Bob swears the one by the front lane isn’t too bad.”

Brendon was tugging on Spencer’s hand, smiling all over the place like the fucking sunshine, like he knew exactly where this was going. Spencer was sick of being the slowest horse in the stable. He nodded, and tried to keep his eyes wide and interested instead of squinted and annoyed.

Beckett laughed. “I’m saying it’s yours. If you want it, Smith, it’s yours.”

“Um... I don’t...” Spencer glanced at Brendon then settled on Travis. Travis, like Ray, didn’t mind cluing him in when Beckett got too wrapped up in his schemes and surprises.

“You’re going to have to put the work in or talk someone into helping,” Travis explained. “We probably have everything you need to fix it left over from the stable repair or the other houses. If you need anything else, just let us know and we’ll get it.”

Gripping the back of the winged chair in front of Beckett’s desk, Spencer cleared his throat. “You’re giving me a house?”

“It’s just a fieldhouse,” Beckett actually... apologized? “Four rooms. Two bedrooms, sitting room, and a serviceable washroom. You can turn it down if you want. Or you guys can talk about it...”

“We’ll,” Spencer started, turning to look at Brendon.

“We’ll take it,” Brendon finished for him. “Thanks, Bill!”

“Don’t worry about it.” Beckett waved a hand. “Go on. Go check out your new property.”

Spencer nodded and wasn’t stupid enough to wait around for the offer to be rescinded. He followed Brendon, clutching at the back of his green and yellow striped shirt. What the actual fuck? Beckett had just _given_ them a _house_? No one gave slaves things, partially because it didn’t matter. Slaves weren’t allowed to have possessions.

Except Beckett had already paid for Spencer to have a whole wardrobe outfitted for him and he never demanded a cut of the fees Brendon charged for teaching music to a few of the more wealthy girls of the community.

Sighing as Brendon pulled him out into the sunshine, Spencer resigned himself to never actually understanding a damn thing that happened around here.  


**********

  
**[Part One]**   


The fieldhouse was quickly becoming Spencer’s worst enemy. Sure, it was his to do with as he pleased, since Brendon didn’t seem to have any opinions other than what type of furniture he wanted, but furniture was going to be the least of their worries if Spencer couldn’t make the damn house inhabitable.

The roof had been an easy enough fix once Spencer got Ray to get him a new ladder from town. Now the bane of his existence was the warping around the door and all but one window.

“Fuck this,” he muttered, kicking the doorframe harder than necessary. He’d need new lumber for the whole door, probably the bedroom windows and sitting room floor, as well.

Maybe today would be the day he got up the nerve to ask for something. Maybe.

Probably not.

Half a year in and Spencer was still going through Bob just to get new drumsticks and Brendon to get Patrick to get Pete to make Spencer new shoes when his were damaged in the flood that hit last month. Actually, that last one had worked out pretty well. It got Spencer his favorite light gray loafers with dark gray accents. They were fucking amazing, even if he was ruining them in an effort to abuse his fieldhouse.

“Piece of shit.” Spencer kicked the doorframe again, just for good measure. He was working himself up into a rant when he heard a soft chuckle behind him. Slowly, purposefully precise, Spencer turned, hip cocked and a scowl cemented in place.

“Give it up, Smith. Just tell Bill you need some new shit.” As always, Bob looked almost amused by Spencer’s best glare.

Something about that, even when Spencer first came to Beckett’s, always made Spencer want to blush and get all coy. Which was ridiculous since Spencer didn’t do the shy thing; that was Brendon’s forte. Still, Spencer liked the way Bob looked at him. Just to be contrary, Spencer tried to deepen his frown.

Lips twitching, Bob cleared the four steps up the small porch in two strides. Dropping a hand to Spencer’s shoulder, Bob started to turn him toward the main house. Spencer could have resisted but didn’t have a reason to. Bob only ever came to drag him away when it was time for dinner.

“You’re not getting anything fixed until Bill gets you a new door or something. Have Ray do it. He’s going fucking stir crazy since the fields are done for the season, anyway. I’m about to make him live with Frank and Gerard, trade him for Mikey. Save Mikey’s sanity so he doesn’t have to _hear_ them anymore.” Bob laughed but Spencer couldn’t echo it.

Spencer knew his house was a work in progress. He just wanted out of the main manor before Beckett came to his senses and took it back. The room he shared with Brendon was great and everything, but it was small and there were always too many people wandering the corridors or lounging in stairwells.

The pervasive fear was no longer a constant, general state of mind, but Spencer needed time to remember where and who he was in this new environment. The relative quiet and extra privacy a house would provide should, hopefully, give Spencer what he wanted… needed.

Trying to rein his thoughts in, Spencer shrugged. “Maybe I’ll make you buy everything. You haven’t been to town in a while.”

Bob groaned low in his throat. “Don’t. I’ll rebuild your shack from the ground up if you send Ray instead.”

Spencer couldn’t help his small grin. One of the running jokes on the estate was Bob’s hatred of going anywhere that meant buying anything. For a minute, Spencer was proud that he knew that. Even if he didn’t know anything else about Bob, not really. All Spencer knew was that wherever Bob had come from, he knew how to be free in ways Spencer couldn’t begin to understand.

Spencer wasn’t sure where he’d come from, didn’t know how to go about asking Bob for his history since that’s not something you did with freed slaves; no one wanted to be reminded of the years spent fighting for basic necessities and catering to even the most deranged, embarrassing, and ridiculous whims of a master.

“Spencer, are you even on this continent right now?” Bob’s voice jarred Spencer out of his head a lot faster than most things could.

Physically shaking himself, Spencer looked up, shocked at how close the manor was. “Yeah, yeah. Just thinking about all the shit I need to do. Maybe I’ll break down and make Brendon help.”

Bob snorted. “Since when does Brendon know how to build things? The kid’s a damn genius with anything he can make into an instrument, but I have some serious fucking reservations about his ability to repair structures.”

If it were anyone else, Spencer would be indignant on Brendon’s behalf. This _was_ Bob though. Plus, Spencer had to admit, if only this once, that Brendon might be a prodigy and pick up things really quickly, but he never had been one to parse out the mechanics of creating something that involved wood and nails.

“Fair point. Don’t let him hear that though.”

The glint in Bob’s eyes said he’d keep this small confidence between them. Spencer bit his lips and busied himself with getting into the questionable chaos that was the interior of the house in the early evening.

There was a lot of shouting, hoots of laughter ringing out, loud and lilting. That was probably Frank and Brendon doing… whatever it was they did. Even if Frank was still mostly a stranger, Spencer had learned fast that it was always better for your sanity and general well-being if you didn’t get involved.

“Welcome to the circus,” Spencer muttered, a phrase Ryan and he had always used when things started to get rambunctious around Saporta’s. Ignoring the now familiar and always painful twinge in his gut when he thought of Ryan, Spencer let himself be rocked by Bob’s shoulder knocking into his.

“Ever been to a real one?” Bob asked, direct and in a tone that suggested Bob wasn’t expecting an answer. That was usually Bob’s way, the reason Spencer didn’t mind spending increasing amounts of time with him.

For long moments, Spencer stared at the expensive decorations scattered around the foyer without seeing them.

“Yeah. When I was a kid. My sisters… ” Spencer couldn’t remember the last time he’d told someone about his family, not without the cover and security of darkness and thick blankets, nothing breaking the silence except his voice and maybe the wind and insects outside the windows. “My mother used to read books to us every evening after dinner. The girls, they loved this biography she had about some tightrope walker or something. I mostly just wanted to see the freaky stuff and the animals.”

Hell, maybe he’d been the one obsessed with acrobats. It’s not like he actually remembered, not really, not anymore. The thing was, it was a long time ago. Spencer wanted to remember, wished he could go back and tell himself so many things, what would be his last memories of his family and where not to be when. If he could just go back - well, things wouldn’t be like they were now.

Not that things were so terrible, for the moment. He had the promise of Brendon’s constant presence as a distraction, and Bob’s brand of encouragement - careful touches and soft expressions - when Brendon wasn’t around. It was a weird look on Bob; he always had things going on in his head and he didn’t let that out all that often, especially on his face. Unless he was irritated or angry; Spencer could relate.

“Were there tigers?”

“Hell no. They had some cows with extra udders and boars with extra tusks and shit. Biggest let down ever.”

“Fucking sucks, man,” Bob told him, with feeling.

“Right? Broke my ten-year-old heart.”

Huffing a soft laugh, Bob gave Spencer a real grin, complete with crinkling eyes, and _holy shit_. Something tugged at Spencer’s chest, something he pushed back with a vengeance.

He didn’t, however, stop Bob from throwing an arm around his shoulders as they headed toward the dining room. When they walked in, Siska was trying to wrestle something shiny out of Butcher’s hands while Gerard tried to convince Mikey of something apparently involving a lot of red and beige… Again, Spencer tried not to pay too much attention as he slid into a seat right on the edge of the action.

As soon as Brendon noticed Spencer and Bob take their seats, Bob’s right in the center of the fray between Ray and Carden, Brendon detached himself from some complicated game involving a string he was playing with Travis. Brendon flung himself into the chair beside Spencer, nearly sliding off the seat and half into Spencer’s lap before Spencer caught him.

“Hey, Spence,” Brendon beamed, bright like always. “How goes the renovation?”

Spencer shrugged. “We’ve got to replace the main door. I’m thinking I’ll make Ray do it.”

“Fucker!” Ray called across several people. He pointed a fork at Spencer to punctuate his point. “I don’t know what you’re saying, but you’ve been around Bob too long for me to trust a damn thing you say.”

Spencer smirked back, making his tone as level as he knew how. “Whatever, Toro. I know I’m your favorite.”

“Those’re fucking fighting words, man!” Frank shouted, practically jumping out of his seat to wave an accusing finger at Spencer only to stop halfway through and hand down a bowl of vegetables that Spencer and Brendon couldn’t reach. “Ray’s already pledged his undying love to me.”

Mikey snorted and coughed instead of outright cackling, which is what Spencer thought was more appropriate. “Yeah, no. That’s Gee.”

Everyone started to settle back into their seats and wander off when they needed to; it was one of the things Spencer liked most about being here. Food was being passed around, or snatched if the insults Butcher was throwing at Beckett were any indication.

Things never really got quiet but no one was shut out, either. Most of the conversation bounced from serious topics about what so-and-so needed from town to light-hearted commentary on someone’s manhood. Spencer liked that he’d gotten to know these people well enough to know that none of it was in spite. Somehow, they all got along most of the time and if there was fighting going on - Brendon swore that happened a lot with Frank and Siska for whatever reason, “clash of personalities or some shit” according to Bob - it was usually kept out of the way of everyone else.

Or, at the very least, it was kept far away from Spencer. There was no denying that most people were still a little wary around Spencer, careful and trying so hard to get him to trust and/or like them, Beckett especially. Spencer wanted to give them that…but something about being treated differently seemed counterproductive and kept Spencer from really trusting most of them.

Brendon started babbling about some cave he was trying to find with Siska; Bill had mentioned his father taking him there to explore when he was a child, and the boys had latched onto it immediately. So far they weren’t very successful, but it hadn’t been a deterrent yet. All the exploring they had accomplished was giving Brendon conversation material about moss on oak trees and rock formations or something. It sounded like gibberish, this string of directions that Spencer couldn’t make sense of because he was still too leery about wandering that far from the main house.

It didn’t really matter; Spencer didn’t care what Brendon said so long as he was talking and reminding Spencer that he was there.

“What?” Brendon asked, his lips twitching into an awkward half-smile. “What are you staring at, Spencer Smith?”

“Nothing,” Spencer promised, shaking his head.

How was he supposed to tell Brendon that sometimes Spencer just needed to stare at him? Brendon looked a little ridiculous with his ivory button-down and crooked blue polka-dotted bow tie. He was still the most amazing thing Spencer had seen in... longer than he cared to think about.

There had been a month or so where Spencer was alone in the traveling sales house and could only see Brendon’s face behind his eyelids. The acting out Spencer had done and the cages he’d almost reveled being thrown into were still phantom whispers through his mind so often that Spencer couldn’t stand not being able to watch Brendon laugh, talk, sing… Hell, Spencer kind of liked waking up in the middle of the night with Brendon’s quiet humming or escalating snores. Whatever meant that Brendon was there.

“I’m just… watching you.”

Brendon leaned over, his shoulder against Spencer’s, and reached for the croissant on Spencer’s plate. “Do we need to talk about manners again? I thought we had you housebroken.”

Shaking his head, Spencer ignored the way Beckett and Travis seemed to quiet at that. But they didn’t understand, didn’t get that the rules were different among slaves, especially Brendon and Spencer.

“Yeah, Bren, you can try to talk me through appropriate table behavior again.” He sent a pointed look toward where Siska was taking up two chairs (one with Butcher still on it) so he could lean across the table and steal things from Beckett’s plate when the serving bowl was closer.

“Losing battle, Brendon,” Bob called down, giving them a wry look.

Brendon just scrunched his nose and stuck his tongue out, nearly knocking over his water glass and trying to grab it without looking away from Bob.

Ducking his head, Spencer laughed quietly. Brendon reached down to squeeze his knee, the type of reminder Brendon was always trying to give Spencer, more promises that he didn’t have to hide.

“Anyone heard from our capricious friends from up north?” Beckett asked, mostly still chewing.

There were murmurs, most of them saying “no” but there was someone saying something about a letter or what-the-hell-ever. Spencer didn’t care. He didn’t have any friends up north, not unless that’s where Jon and Ryan ended up. But for all Tom’s searching, Brendon said they still didn’t know shit.

Spencer tuned it out and ate his potatoes until it was late enough to talk Brendon into going to their room to goof off for the rest of the night. When Brendon tugged Bob up the stairs with them and begged for a story, Spencer rolled his eyes at Bob but didn’t otherwise complain. Bob’s constant presence was one of the easiest things Spencer had to adjust to.  


**********

Spencer was halfway through fixing the main house’s front steps when the sound of wheels and hooves on the rock lane leading to the stables caught his attention. For a few moments, he just stared at the splintering step was trying to mend.

He hated, absolutely detested the way his heart sped up, racing as his palms began to sweat. There was no reason for him to be so nervous, but he didn’t think they were expecting anyone, and new people were... tricky.

Carefully, maybe a little shakily, Spencer pulled himself to his feet and did the only thing he really knew how to do anymore: find Brendon.

His first shot was the music room, always a good bet when trying to track Brendon down. His last lesson had ended about twenty minutes ago; Spencer had spoken to Cassadee on her way out to meet her carriage.

Spencer had to concentrate on walking at a normal pace instead of running down the hall the way he wanted to. As expected, Brendon was still tinkering around with a guitar when Spencer reached the hallway, the sound drifting through the air since Brendon didn’t appreciate feeling locked up in one room unless he was sleeping or with Spencer or Bob.

Trying his very damnedest not to seem too ridiculous and wretchedly terrified, Spencer tapped out a staccato beat against the wall beside the door. Brendon looked up quickly, his smile immediate. The expression fell as soon as he caught a glimpse of Spencer’s face. Maybe Spencer needed to spend a bit more time working on keeping his facial expression blank if he was this easy to read.

Unless it was only Brendon who could read him; Spencer thought he might be okay with Brendon knowing him that well.

“What’s wrong?” Even as he asked, Brendon was setting the guitar to the side and moving across the room. “What is it? Has something happened?”

Each question was a tad more frantic than the one before it, and Spencer knew he needed to stop that. There was no reason for Brendon to be in a panic just because Spencer still hadn’t figured out how to deal with people he didn’t see every day.

“Just… someone’s here. I wondered if you had a lesson I didn’t know about? Sarah have a recital or something?”

“Sarah doesn’t have another recital for a few more months right now.”

Spencer should have known that; he heard Brendon talk about his schedule and what was going on with his students on a daily basis. “Hm,” he nodded, blanking his face as much as possible.

Sensing his discomfort, Brendon laid a hand on Spencer’s arm, lightly gripping just above his elbow. “Spence. Seriously, what’s going on? Did… something happen?”

Glancing down, feeling his cheeks heat, Spencer tried to shrug but his shoulders felt too rigid and heavy. Trying to appear more nonchalant, he tugged at the cuffs of his brown shirt with the ivory pattern he’d picked just because it made Brendon smile.

“Just… someone’s here? I think. I heard…I just wondered if you knew someone who was supposed to be coming?”

Even though he didn’t move, not really, Spencer could see the gears turning. Brendon was alert, trying to reason things out. Thankfully, that was what made Spencer ease up on the embarrassment. If Brendon needed time to process, then it was perfectly acceptable if Spencer needed the same thing.

“Come on,” Brendon said suddenly, slipping his hand down to link his fingers with Spencer’s. “We’ll go see what is going on. It’s probably just some business thing of Bill’s. They’ll probably be in the office by the time we even get out there.”

After a month or so, Spencer had stopped relying on Brendon to lead him through everything. As he had acclimated, realized no one was actively trying to make him anxious, Spencer stopped needing the metaphorical handholding.

Sometimes, when something random happened to remind Spencer who held his papers, the literal version was nice. Besides, if Brendon was touching him, then Spencer knew where he was. If something happened, when things finally took a turn for the worst and got bad, Spencer would be able to keep up with Brendon if he was close. When the tables turned and they were pulled out of this house or Beckett started actually behaving like a real master instead of a semi-distant acquaintance, Spencer would be able to get Brendon out. No matter what, Spencer wasn’t letting Brendon go this time. Come Hell or high water, they were sticking together.

So what if that thought made Spencer grip Brendon’s fingers a little tighter? Brendon just squeezed his hand in return.

When they reached the end of the hall, pulling open the heavy oak door, they realized _something_ really was happening. There were voices coming from the entrance hall where no one ever spent an extended amount of time. Sharing a look, Spencer and Brendon soldiered on into the unknown, finding most of the staff greeting two new additions; Travis was actually laughing at some guy Spencer vaguely remembered seeing a photograph of on the one trip he’d been persuaded to take to Pete’s place in town.

Brendon started to hunch his shoulders, closing in on himself the way he did when he was unsure of his place, the same mannerism he’d slipped into every single time a buyer stopped to inquire on his papers and skill set while they were still in the travelling sales house. His fidgeting was escalating, Brendon tugging at his suspenders, pulling one side down off his arm even if the other was stuck because Spencer wasn’t giving his hand back.

Spencer hadn’t seen that reaction in a while, and it annoyed him enough to have him squaring his shoulders in counterpoint, back straight and head held high.

Maybe if he didn’t act like he was owned, no one would catch on. That hadn’t actually worked before, and Spencer had taken more than one beating for being “too proud for his station in life” but he’d never actually been able to give up what little bit of pride the trainers, masters, traders, and slave managers hadn’t been able to find and beat or berate out of him.

Seconds away from clearing his throat and garnering the sort of attention he should have been trying to avoid, Spencer glanced behind the small crowd and met Bob’s eyes. Bob gave a slight nod, but Spencer couldn’t bring himself to smile, nod, or even shrug in return.

Bob jerked his head toward the kitchen and Spencer understood the implicit command in that... or, well, not command because Bob didn’t demand things; it was more of a silent request. Whatever it was, Spencer gave Brendon a tug, leading the way toward the deserted room. There was something steaming in a pot on the stove, but it didn’t seem to be boiling yet so Spencer didn’t bother to check if it was charred or edible.

Before Spencer could say anything, Bob was carefully prying Brendon away. Spencer made an aborted movement to grab onto Brendon again until he saw Bob wrap both arms around Brendon’s shoulders and sigh against his hair.

“How you doing, Bren?”

Brendon shrugged and mumbled something too low and muffled against Bob’s shirt for Spencer to parse out.

“They’re lawyers, friends of Bill’s. They only come out when they have good news or Bill has some emergency issue with a contract that didn’t go through.”

Comforting as that should have been, Spencer still remembered the last time he had seen lawyers in a master’s home. When the lawyers showed up at Saporta’s, it hadn’t taken long for them to send the tax collectors to gather all the slaves into a line with shackles and heavy chains, hitting first and asking questions later.

He couldn’t stop the small shudder that rocked through his body, spine tingling with the cold. Goosebumps rose on Spencer’s arms and he bit down on his lip. Giving in to the impulse, Spencer reached out to grasp at Brendon’s shirt. Unfortunately, he was too far away to touch anything other than air. Stupid fucking feet, Spencer thought; if they would just listen to his commands, Spencer could be letting Brendon burrow into _his_ chest, offering as much relief as he would be taking from the gesture.

“Fucking hell, Smith,” Bob rumbled, catching Spencer’s wrist. He let go of Brendon and turned so Brendon was tucked into one side and Spencer could be pulled against the other. “They’re just lawyers, what’s so scary about them?”

“Lawyers were there the day… when we were sold to the traveling sales house,” Spencer forced out between gritted teeth.

Bob’s arm tightened, but when Spencer glanced up, there was confusion written on his face. They hadn’t given up the whole story. Correction, Spencer hadn’t told anyone, even Bob, anything. Brendon may have but Brendon also had this uncanny ability to talk without saying a damn thing.

“Seized by the government for Saporta’s tax debts,” Brendon mumbled, voice a little thicker than usual.

“Blackinton tried to buy us back but... I don’t know. I guess he could only take Victoria with him,” Spencer added.

Brendon must have nodded; Spencer felt Bob’s shirt move. “She was free anyway. Probably just had to take her papers in.”

Neither of them pointed out that Jon was also technically free and his contract had stated he’d work off his debts with Saporta. He’d still been taken with the rest, shoved in line with Brendon, Spencer, and Ryan. He’d still been bought by the same little princess who had paid for Ryan with her daddy’s money.

Bob...growled. Or something. It wasn’t really a human sound, not a _hmph_ or sigh. “It’s lucky that even mattered.”

For a few seconds, Bob held on tighter. Spencer felt a calm start to settle in. If Bob was there...maybe they’d be okay. He looked like he could fight, had a gruff exterior. No one at Saporta’s had really been like that. Suarez had talked a big game, but Spencer was convinced the freeman didn’t know how to take a punch.

Finally, Bob pushed them away, slowly, carefully. Brendon made a little whimpering noise and reached out to take Spencer’s hand. Spencer held on, grip too tight. Shockingly enough, Bob didn’t move them far, only an arm’s length away. They were still close enough that he could hold onto each of their shoulders, keeping them in a sort of misshapen triangle.

“No one is taking you again, got it?” He was so... earnest. It made Spencer start a little. “Whatever happens, Bill isn’t letting them take you away. And you both know I fucking won’t.”

Spencer frowned at how absolutely emphatic Bob sounded. Buying into the reassurance would be so fucking easy, but Spencer hadn’t survived this long as a slave by relying on blind hope.

“Okay, Bob,” Brendon whispered, glancing at Spencer to include him in the response.

Blind hope had always been more Brendon’s thing, anyway. At least he still had that optimism in him, even after he’d been everything from a stable slave to a little girl’s living doll to being consider the same level as the dogs some teenager had forced him to live among. Spencer envied Brendon’s ability to still see the bright things. There was no way in Hell he was letting anything take that away.

Bob opened his mouth, forehead wrinkled like he was gearing up for a rant, when Butcher burst in. Seriously, Spencer had never been so glad to see Butcher; the inexplicable name was off-putting enough for Spencer to generally avoid him.

“Urie, c’mon. There are people who want to meet you!” He was hitting them with the full force of his half-insane grin, and Spencer wanted to smile back but... lawyers were here and they wanted something from _Brendon_.

Hell. Fucking. No.

“Um.” Brendon looked around a bit wildly, his nails starting to bite into Spencer’s palm.

“Not without me,” Spencer put in with more defiance than he knew he could muster.

“Us,” Bob corrected, giving Butcher a look that dared him to complain.

Laughing, he waved a hand and shrugged. “Too fucking much, guys. Bill wants them to talk to Spencer anyway. And no one’s leaving you out,” he muttered to Bob. “Like you’d let us. Fucking guard dog tendencies.”

What? Spencer almost asked, but Butcher was vanishing into the dining room and Bob was starting to usher Spencer and Brendon in that direction so Spencer focused on making sure he stepped into the room ahead of Brendon, blocking him from view for as long as possible.

Beckett was practically bouncing, hands waving as he talked to the guy Spencer recognized from the picture, plus another one with a beard and hair that made him look a little nuts. Spencer tried not to glare, honestly, but these guys looked suspicious.

Well, okay, the first one kind of reminded Spencer of Jon, and the other was just strange.

Fucking traitor Bob cleared his throat. Travis nudged Beckett and nodded toward the doorway, all while rolling his eyes at the Beckett’s antics.

“Bden! Spencer Smith! Sit, sit,” Beckett told them in what Siska was forever calling his _regal heir voice_. Spencer didn’t trust anything that had the word _heir_ in the title, or masters who were this enthusiastic about a slave’s appearance. Never mind that Beckett’s mother had apparently been a slave once. The lose-lose situation Spencer put Beckett into was an unavoidable consequence of Beckett still holding his papers.

Metaphorically.

Although, Beckett _was_ holding some sort of papers in his fluttery hands. And he wanted to see Brendon. Was he going transfer ownership? Were the lawyers, these two new additions who looked normal even though normal was so often misleading, here to finish up a transfer of Brendon to... someone? Or was this about transferring _Spencer_. Was Beckett just going to use this time to apologize to Brendon for sending his friend away?

 _Shit_. Spencer should have tried harder. Should have been more open and faked the trust better. Shouldn’t have scowled so much and spent so much time working on that fucking house Beckett had promised them.

Spencer was working up to a real tantrum. Typical.

“Guys, seriously.”

“Just do it so he’ll shut up. He has a _surprise_ ,” Siska muttered. He sounded amused, though.

Spencer moved for the seat closest to the door, taking Brendon with him. Beckett got all flaily again and kept begging them closer until Brendon was to Beckett’s right and Spencer was on Brendon’s other side. The lawyers were across from them. It was difficult, but Spencer managed not to kick them under the table.

“Okay. Okay, okay, okay,” Beckett started. He motioned toward the lawyers, the clean cut one first. “This is Joe Trohman and that’s Andy Hurley. They’re, well, Bob told you, right? My attorneys. They have something for you, Brendon.”

He was almost talking too fast for Spencer to keep up but he managed.

Brendon shifted, reached out for Spencer under the table. “Um. Yeah, hi. So. Right. What is it?”

Someone squeezed Spencer’s shoulder; he didn’t have to look to know it was Bob. He must have done the same thing to Brendon because Brendon’s shoulders lost a tiny bit of tension. His eyes, however, continued staring at the wall between these Joe and Andy characters.

Beckett looked about to start again, but Joe cut him off. “The big surprise is...well, here.” He wrestled a stack of papers away from Beckett and slid them across the table to Brendon. “All those need to be official is your signature at the bottom.”

“You can,” Andy put in, cutting his eyes to the side in apparent embarrassment. “You can read and write? Sometimes I know they don’t teach slaves...”

Without Spencer’s express permission, Spencer’s leg kicked out.

“Fuck!” Andy reached down, wincing. “Sorry. I, yeah, I didn’t mean...just, sorry. Right. That was rude.”

“This is what happens when you spend too much fucking time with Pete. I _tried_ to tell you fuckers this but does anyone list-”

“Gee,” Bob snapped. “Shut up. Brendon, what is that?”

Spencer seconded the question, even though Bob sounded like he already knew. Nothing was making sense. No one wanted slaves to sign things, not really. Sometimes it might happen if they were being given some sort of special privilege; Ryan had talked about that. In exchange for being allowed to walk the gardens on the third master’s estate, he’d had to sign something saying if he did so during the day or wandered out of the designated paths, he’d be sold to a brothel after having a leg broken.

Understandably, Spencer didn’t trust masters who let slaves sign things.

“Spence,” Brendon started. “I. Bill, really? You’re serious?”

“Brendon, _what_?” Spencer asked, tugging the papers away. Brendon was clutching them so hard they were starting to rip in places.

Beckett was grinning like the crazy person he was. “Yeah. Yeah, you didn’t think I was just going to keep you, right? I mean, you can stay here as long as you want. Keep giving lessons out of the music room, whatever. But if you wanted to go... you could.”

“What, now?” Spencer asked, but was paying more attention to the sheaf in his hands.

There was an official seal at the top, the kind that only came on government notices. He scanned down, through the legalese that might as well have been Greek. More nonsense Spencer didn’t understand. Finally, the line that had Spencer losing his breath.

 _On this day, October 03, the Baronet William Eugene Beckett II of Santi Manor, Southern Shepherdville County, releases ownership of one Brendon Boyd Urie. As enacted through this emancipation, the enslaved is released from all duties, debts, and/or servitude placed upon him by Baronet Beckett or our lordship._

More words covered the subsequent pages but there were signatures, the scrawl of people with titles like _Magistrate Berg_ and _Honorable Judge Greenwald_ , followed by Beckett’s with Travis’ over the _witness_ line and Trohman and Hurley’s above the designated _notary_ lines.

Apparently, it was a giant pain in the ass to free someone.

And Beckett had still freed Brendon. Which. What?

“Spence,” Brendon whispered, prying his papers away and holding a pen above the line marked _emancipated_.

His hand was shaky, but his name was still legible. As soon as his pen moved from the paper, the whole table erupted. Everyone was yelling, hollering, trying to get at Brendon to hug him. Hell, even Bob swung Brendon around in a tight circle. That probably had more to do with the direction Brendon forced on him with the power of his near tackle, but still.

Everything was loud and celebratory, everyone talking at once. But Spencer. He was frozen in his seat.

This shouldn’t be a shock. On his very first fucking day there, Ray had told Spencer Beckett had freed him. Beckett had freed all of them: Ray, Frank, Bob, Gerard and Mikey (even if Pete had actually found the last two). Travis had sworn Beckett’s mother was a slave, a runaway, and that Beckett wasn’t actually a Beckett by blood.

Spencer shouldn’t be nearly as surprised as he was.

He must have been staring at nothing too long, holding his breath or gasping or... whatever he was doing during his whole existential crisis. There was a light touch on his shoulder. When Spencer looked up, Beckett was in Brendon’s vacated seat.

“Yeah?” It was more of a cough than a word.

Beckett grinned. He flipped his hair out of his face and nodded. “They’re working on yours. It’s... a process. Joe and Andy have to do a petition and then we have to meet with a judge who sends it to the Western Counties for a magistrate that’s willing to sign off. But we’re working on it. You get this, too.”

In all his watching, his suspicious staring, Spencer had never seen Beckett look so... sincere. There was something like hope in his eyes, like he was asking Spencer to just _trust_ him, just this once, on this _one_ thing.

“I...Um.” Spencer couldn’t get the words out. Turning, just a little, Spencer saw Brendon. He was practically glowing with excitement, bouncing from one person to the next just to drape over their shoulders and, suddenly, it was easy. “Thank... you. Thank you.”

Staring down, letting his hair fall in his eyes, he tried to cover the smile he felt taking over. Maybe he wasn’t free, not yet, maybe even not ever, but Brendon was. And that... well.

Before Beckett had a chance to do more than squeeze Spencer’s forearm, Brendon actually threw himself into Spencer’s lap.

“Spencer. Fucking. Fuck. I’m... this. I’m free. _Spence_.” Brendon was smiling all over the place and it was fucking gorgeous. Spencer would beg, cheat, steal, borrow, maim, and kill to keep Brendon this happy forever.

Even with everyone there, general bedlam happening with everyone pulling out cakes (probably not one of Frank’s since the kitchen was intact and Ray hadn’t had an aneurysm yet), all vying for Brendon’s attention. Even with all of the goings-on, Spencer gave in to one tiny thing he hadn’t even acknowledged that he wanted.

He ran a hand through Brendon’s hair, pulling just a bit, just enough that he could lean in and press their lips together. Feel that smile. Keep the memory.

Brendon may have gasped, Siska definitely whistled, but there was no awkward pause or resistance. Spencer pressed his fingers into the small of Brendon’s back, leaning up to sustain the touch as Brendon’s arms wrapped around his neck. It didn’t last long, not long enough, but when Brendon pulled away to lean their foreheads together, he was still smiling.

Cutting his eyes to the side, Spencer caught Bob watching, wearing a real smile for once. And that, all of this... well. It was more than enough.

**********

Celebrating Brendon’s official emancipation took up most of the night. There was a larger variety of food than they usually bothered making for one meal, but Siska and Butcher had tried to make everything they knew Brendon liked. Brendon was on air all through dinner, humming when his mouth was full and singing when it wasn’t. Someone broke out a few of the guitars and Travie gave Brendon something called an autoharp as a congratulations present.

Brendon had let go of Spencer to hug Travie for roughly ten minutes before he settled back into his seat. Bob laughed and flicked the strings, giving Brendon a one-armed hug when Brendon shoved his hand away from the new instrument.

Tearing Brendon away from his new toy was nearly impossible; Spencer didn’t even try, not until it was far later than any of them usually stayed up. They climbed the stairs a little bleary, still laughing at a story Butcher had been yelling to them on the stairs - he’d only been two steps behind but insisted they couldn’t hear him.

They pushed into their room still rambling nonsense at each other, mocking Butcher’s half-sentences and nonsense phrases. Their routine was natural at this point: Brendon pulling the drapes closed, Spencer stoking the fire so they wouldn’t freeze in the night, Brendon struggling out of his suspenders and hopping around to kick off his shoes without actually unlacing them. Spencer chuckled, folding his clothes as he tugged them off and pulling on one of the nightshirts Brendon was forever making fun of.

Spencer fell back onto his bed, not bothering to turn down the covers. By the time Brendon was down to his underwear, Spencer was half asleep.

“Spencer, Spencer Smith, do _not_ go to sleep on me yet!” Brendon jumped on Spencer’s bed, landing on his knees and making Spencer bounce.

Chuckling softly, Spencer rolled to his side and propped himself up on one arm. He looked at Brendon with bleary eyes, blinking to bring him into focus. “‘M awake.”

“Good. Because,” Brendon drew out the second syllable. “I am a free man, Spencer. Fucking free. Can you believe it?” He didn’t sound like he could, the shock of it still holding strong.

“Yeah,” Spencer nodded, forcing himself to wake up. “You deserve it.”

Brendon ducked his head, looking up through his eyelashes. Spencer’s stomach dropped out. His breath caught a little in his throat at the warm, happy glow in Brendon’s cheeks.

“So do you,” Brendon whispered. He leaned down, pressing their foreheads together and going a little cross-eyed to keep looking at Spencer.

Spencer laughed. “You’re such a dork.”

When Brendon nodded, their noses brushed. “But you love it, right?”

The tiniest of shifts pressed their lips together. It wasn’t really a kiss, more just a brush of lips with the promise of more. “Yeah. I kind of really do.” Spencer barely recognized his voice, soft and rough.

Brendon smiled, wide and bright, but it softened until he could press his lips to Spencer’s for a proper kiss. It was a little dry, their lips catching in a way that would be uncomfortable if Spencer wasn’t stuck on the fact that he was _kissing_ Brendon. Spencer pulled away enough to lick his lips and when they met again, the slide was easier.

Spencer reached up, hooking a hand behind Brendon’s neck to get a little more leverage. Brendon brought his hands up to frame Spencer’s face, idly brushing his fingers against Spencer’s beard. Spencer hummed and then Brendon was surging forward. Without his hands holding him up, Brendon overbalanced. He fell against Spencer’s shoulder, forcing their lips apart and Spencer to drop down on his back.

They stared at each other for a couple seconds before Spencer started snickering and Brendon outright laughed. Spencer ran the hand he still had on Brendon’s neck down his back, pulling him down. Still giggling - a fresh wave of giddiness coming over each of them whenever they started to calm down - Brendon settled against Spencer’s side, hooking an ankle between Spencer’s.

Spencer got a little preoccupied, his smile softening. Brendon’s skin was smoother than he expected. There were a few spots that felt different under his fingertips, scars he’d seen a thousand times but never tried to think about, never wanted to consider how badly Brendon had been hurt. Not that it mattered now; no one could hurt Brendon like that again.

Brendon darted forward, pressing a kiss to the tip of Spencer’s nose. Spencer wrinkled it and huffed a laugh.

“Hey. Want to try that again?” Brendon asked, going for sassy and coming across something closer to gleeful.

“I don’t know.” Spencer stared up at the ceiling. He bit his lip to hide his smile but still heard it in his voice. “I’m pretty tired. Think it’s worth it?”

“I’m always worth it. Don’t even fake like you doubt me.” Brendon rested his head on Spencer’s shoulder, kissing slowly up Spencer’s neck.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say.” Spencer meticulously slid his hand along Brendon’s side, finding the spot right above his hip to dig in his fingers.

“No tickling!” Brendon squirmed in the most interesting way, trying to shove Spencer’s hand away. “No fair!”

He was still laughing when Spencer caught his lips again. Spencer didn’t waste any time, slipping his tongue out to trace Brendon’s lips. Brendon opened for him immediately, meeting each of Spencer’s moves with a counterpoint of his own. Both of them were a little careful, but that just made the kisses the sweetest thing Spencer had probably ever felt.

Spencer had never felt so... light. There was this floaty feeling in his chest that threatened to bubble out of his throat and make him pull away. Spencer held it down, more interested in keeping his mouth on Brendon’s. Brendon didn’t seem to mind, breaking away to take a deep breath but moving back in before he’d even finished inhaling.

Brendon’s hand was wrapped in the front of his shirt, the other idly playing with Spencer’s hair; Spencer’s hands were aimless, roaming Brendon’s skin. It was amazing and Spencer would have been happy to do this forever and never leave the room.

But it was late and Spencer really was extremely tired. He was fighting off a yawn with every hasty breath and Brendon’s kisses were becoming more unfocused. His grip on Spencer’s shirt loosened and Spencer’s caresses lingered longer. Spencer moved down to kiss Brendon’s chin, suck at the pulse in his throat.

Brendon groaned softly, the sound turning into a yawn. Spencer laughed, pressing one final open-mouthed kiss to the corner of Brendon’s mouth. He pulled back, yawning as Brendon blinked at him.

“We should sleep.”

“Yeah,” Brendon agreed easily, burying his face against Spencer’s chest. “Get the lamp?”

Spencer sighed, so very put upon. Brendon bit his collarbone, and Spencer tried not to let on how that one sharp feeling went straight through his body like lightning. It was a struggle, but Spencer managed to reach the oil lamp on his bedside table without displacing Brendon too much.

Brendon hummed his thanks when the room dimmed, everything slightly orange due to the fire burning across the room. He was already half out of it and, with the way his eyes kept taking longer and longer to blink open, Spencer wasn’t far behind. Spencer cupped the back of Brendon’s head and closed his eyes.

“Goodnight.” For once, Spencer actually meant it.

**********

  
**[Part Two]**   


Everyone was still giddy the next day. Normally, Spencer would have been greatly annoyed by the shock the early morning energy always had on his half-awake brain, but. But when he’d spent half the night poking at Bob, having a minor battle of wits with Butcher about what sort of song was situation appropriate, and cuddling with Brendon, trading kisses just because they _could_ now; after all that, Spencer found it difficult to be bothered by much.

Lunch was closer than breakfast by the time Spencer went in search of Gerard’s “special” brand of coffee, but mostly everyone was still there. Struggling to fix a cup of coffee with extra sugar to offset the tar-like consistency and to straighten his slightly faded deep blue vest all at the same time, Spencer almost missed the disarray happening at the other end of the room.

One end of the dining table was covered in packets of papers and drawings of room layouts. This was sort of normal, considering Brendon was forever trying to find secret passageways in the manor, but these looked different.

Brendon had run to meet Ashlee for her vocal lessons, but even without the buffer, Spencer felt compelled to speak. To say something instead of hiding.

“What’s going on?”

Gerard looked up, feather from fuck-knows-where behind his ear and pen in hand, ink smeared across his nose. “We’re planning Brendon’s freedom party! Do you know if he likes flowers? I mean, we don’t actually _need_ flowers but Bill wants flowers. I’m thinking a lot of candles, except Carden wants streamers and that is probably going to be a problem. Bill’s going to be really fucking pissed if we burn this shit to the- Hey! Fireworks, can we get those? They have those, right? We could get a fucking _rocket_.”

He was writing again before Spencer even caught up.

“Bill’s throwing a party?” Spencer almost choked when he realized that this was the _first_ time in over _six months_ that he had used Beckett’s first name. It felt weird, didn’t quite roll of his tongue the way such a short name should.

“Hell yeah, man,” Ray nodded. He didn’t stay, dragging a chair someone - no one would take the blame - had broken in the commotion the night before out toward his makeshift workshop.

“Which isn’t fucking fair, right? None of _us_ got a party,” Frank pouted. “Well, Mikey. But that was Pete. Pete gives Mikey all sorts of shit none of us get.” Gerard made a disgruntled noise and Frank started backtracking.

“It’s because of you, you know?”

Spencer spun around a little too quickly, sloshing coffee over the rim of his cup. How in the hell did Travis always manage to sneak up on people? The guy was a thousand feet tall and somehow managed to move with the precision and stealth of a cat. Or a mountain lion maybe. Brendon’s explanation was just that he was “Travie motherfucking McCoy. Don’t question his awesome, Spencer.”

“Brendon’s getting a Freedom Party and that’s all about me?” Spencer raised an eyebrow, because what the fuck? If he didn’t sound like a pretentious brat, he would be shocked. “Right. I’m just narcissistic enough to believe that.”

Travis laughed. “Look, it’s for Brendon, and we love the kid, you get that.” Shoving off the wall, Travis dropped into a chair, leaning back enough to kick his heels up on the table. “But this is Bill’s surprisingly subtle way of getting you to like him.”

Raised eyebrows were the only response Spencer had for that.

“All right, look. You’re fucking scared of Bill, which is weird. Guy isn’t really threatening, right? But he sees it and he’s trying his level best to fix it.”

“He gets the point where he... owns me? Because, damn, it’s not like that’s important.”

“Smith,” Travis sighed. “Man, look. He’s working on emancipating you. It’s this huge ass process, but we’re working on it. Started the week after you got here. _I_ was all for telling you, but you see how Bill is about surprises.”

“He derives a sick sort of pleasure out of making people squirm in anticipation?” Spencer scoffed.

A weird sort of smile crossed Travis’ face, more of a smirk but with softer eyes. It was weird and, not that Spencer had a fuck-ton of experience with it or anything, but he thought maybe there was more to Travis and Beckett’s... Bill’s relationship than the strictly professional.

“He does. But yeah, we all caught on about five minutes after you started talking that keeping Brendon happy keeps you happy. It’s not a fucking hardship or anything, since we like him better when he’s not depressed and giving those damned kicked puppy eyes...”

Spencer tried not to flinch at the terminology, but couldn’t hold back. Trite phrases shouldn’t sting so much at this point. He tried to cover his reaction, a few seconds too late, when Travis dropped his feet to the floor and forced himself to his feet, stretching out in the process.

“Beckett wants me to like him so he’s buying my affection through Brendon?”

Travis shrugged. “Basically. Fuck, it’s working for Bob, right?”

Maybe Spencer gaped a little at that; it couldn’t be helped. Giving him a wink, Travis headed for the door. He paused just long enough to steal the feather from behind Gerard’s ear and flick Frank in the back of the head. Part of Spencer wanted to follow Travis and knee him in the god-damned balls just to see if _that_ would make him stop being the most chill motherfucker Spencer had ever come across.

It probably wouldn’t.

“Man, he’s right, though,” Frank said suddenly.

“What?” Spencer asked, jumping enough to spill more of his forgotten, tepid coffee onto his hand. He was so not awake enough for this shit.

Gerard waved a hand. “Brendon being the key to your happiness. You’d have run Bob off before now if he didn’t fucking pander to everything Brendon wants. It’s about damn adorable.”

“Bob doesn’t exactly seem like the type to scare easily.” Seriously, what was Spencer’s fucking _life_.

Frank giggle-cackled; it was sort of cute, in a way. “Yeah, but you scare the shit out of him. Go ask.”

“Bob is going to kick your ass then feed you to the poltergeists,” Spencer muttered. Dealing with this nonsense was harshing the high Spencer had been riding from waking up with his lips still slightly swollen and Brendon’s weirdly high body temperature practically burning Spencer’s skin even through two layers of clothes.

“There aren’t any fucking poltergeists!” Frank yelled. “Right, Gerard? Gee? Fucker, stop drawing Brendon with a...is that a daisy crown? Can I get one of those?”

In spite of himself, Spencer laughed, chest a little lighter than the situation probably should have allowed. Even if he should have been freaking out, Spencer tried to hang onto that airy feeling.

He pushed the weird conversation with Travis and Frank’s random, hopefully irrelevant as usual interjections out of his mind. Instead, he headed back to his fieldhouse to work on what he had the materials to fix.  


*********

Two hours later and Spencer’s mind was wandering. The only things he could actually work on involved patching up cracks in the floorboards and surveying the ceiling for any internal water damage.

Basically, he was doing mindless jobs that he didn’t actually have to focus too much attention on. Because that resolution he’d made to not think about what Travis was implying? It was a thing of the past. At this point, Spencer had been through it a dozen or so times.

Becke- Bill trying to get Spencer to like him did make a sort of sense. He’d freed Brendon and promised Spencer he was working on giving Spencer the same thing. In retrospect, that all made sense. And, admittedly, Spencer knew he was an easy target when Brendon was involved. It was nearly impossible for Spencer to even remotely dislike anything that made Brendon happy.

Being free, that was the first step in Brendon’s unending happiness. As big as that was, Bill was still trying to do little things, tiny inconsequential things that would make Brendon happy. Like a party and continued free reign over the music room, even if he wasn’t living in the house.

Okay, that made sense, but Bob? Why did Bob need Spencer to like him? There was no reason behind it. Bob could be Brendon’s friend or Spencer’s or both or neither. Bob wasn’t the type of guy to make decisions for anyone else, didn’t need any sort of approval from anywhere outside himself.

Plus, he’d been giving Brendon _special_ attention since before Spencer even showed up. The first time Spencer had met Bob, Brendon had given his approval by practically climbing the other man. Bob was _already_ letting Brendon follow, hang off of, and chatter at him. Spencer hadn’t had anything to do with that.

Which was a good damn thing because Spencer would have absolutely lost his shit if anyone, especially Bob, was using Brendon like that, using Spencer in a way that could potentially _hurt_ Brendon. That would be such utter fucking bullshit and the worst stab in the back anyone on this estate could dole out to Spencer.

Which brought up another semi-fear. What if Spencer only liked spending time with Bob because of Brendon? What if Spencer didn’t actually like him for himself? Spencer wouldn’t use people like that. He couldn’t do that, wouldn’t.

 _Shit._

Spencer stopped staring at the remarkably well-kept ceiling and contemplated banging his head against the wall a few times. This weird headspace Spencer always managed to fall into was getting old. Intense introspection wasn’t always Spencer’s default setting, never used to be. Somewhere around the time Ryan and Jon were bought, though, Spencer started over-analyzing _every_ little fucking thing.

It needed to just stop.

He sighed, dropping the scrap pages he’d been marking on and the charcoal he’d begged off Gerard onto the ever growing pile of stockpiled nonsense he’d been keeping. Most of it wasn’t even set aside for any particular purpose, was just in there _in case_ he could use it. Wasting things just wasn’t an option.

Spencer sighed and rubbed at his temples. He needed... something. Socialization. Brendon.

It wasn’t too late in the day, but Spencer knew Brendon was finished with lessons, had been for probably an hour or so at this point.

Stepping out into the still bright but quickly dimming sunlight, Spencer shut the door to the house as best as he could on the warped frame. He took a minute to just close his eyes and soak up to feel. It was a little thing, but he _could_ do it now and no one would yell at him for slacking. No one was going to hit him with a studded paddle because he didn’t finish things faster than humanly possible.

Some things at Beckett’s, more than just Brendon, were plain awesome.

Shaking himself, Spencer started for the house. As always, the music room was the first place Spencer thought to go. Mikey found him before he even cleared the steps.

Mikey was a lot quieter than most of the others on the estate, especially when compared to his brother. Still, Spencer liked him. He was...calm. In a very _Ryan_ way that was reassuring and bothersome in turn.

“Hey,” Spencer waved.

Pausing, Mikey quirked a smirk-ish thing. It was strange. “Bob or Brendon?”

“Um.” Spencer took a moment to consider when Bob became an automatic thought when Spencer looked like he was on a mission. “Bren.”

“They’re up in the attic on the west wing,” Mikey gave him a wry look.

Spencer almost asked why Mikey’d asked which one if they were together. Somehow, he knew he wouldn’t get an answer, though. A nod and half-assed wave later, Spencer headed for the back of the house.

There was a faded door nearly obscured by shrubbery between the West and South wings. Hardly anyone used it except Siska and Frank since it was the closest door to the stables. When Spencer pushed his way through the entrance, he tried to rush through. The corridor was especially narrow, doors close together and some half open.

The disused and aged slave quarters were actually _nice_ , for slave quarters. There was even a bathroom at the end of the hall with a tub and a small but serviceable sitting room near the middle of the hall.

Nonetheless, Spencer rushed through and up the narrow work staircase, passed the landings for each floor until he hit the ceiling. The door was already pulled down from the ceiling, so Spencer climbed up the ladder.

Sheet-covered furniture and piles of miscellaneous antique paraphernalia filled the space nearly from wall to wall. The path toward the center of the house was clear, though.

The closer Spencer got the more sounds he heard. The low buzzing of conversation that started by the gold framed mirror turned into snickering at the redwood chest of drawers. Whispering took over at the asymmetrical bicycle and became a low-voiced conversation at the piles of discarded clothing two decades out of date.

“Think I could wear this? Go out and battle... something. I bet Bill has a sword he’d give me,” Brendon laughed.

Bob’s hum of assent was quieter, but there was this weird echo happening in the attic. Frank needed to be forced up here at some point. Maybe they could get some of Gerard’s creep-tastic paintings to put up there. Spencer made a mental note to tell Brendon and Bob about that later.

He would have done it immediately, but when he rounded a covered _thing_ that may or may not have been a functional rocking chair at some point, he was hit with one of the strangest sights imaginable.

Bob was sprawled on the floor under a dust-covered window and Brendon... Brendon was standing across the room with various pieces from a suit of armor covering him. The helmet was on and flipped open in the front. The arm guards were pulled haphazardly into place and one shin cover was slipping down over Brendon’s scuffed up, red-tipped shoes. Every piece was too big, fitted for someone much more bulky than Brendon could probably ever want to be.

Spencer took a moment to appreciate the scene, followed by at least five minutes of hysterical laughter. He thought they might have been surprised by his sudden appearance, but by the time he started to calm down, Brendon was leaning against the wall, laughing just as much. Even Bob had pushed up onto his elbows and was smirking at them.

“What the hell are you doing?” Spencer finally gasped out.

“Brendon wants to start a _tournament_ ,” Bob chuckled.

For his part, Brendon was nodding. “Spence, would you come watch me kick Butcher’s ass in a sword fight?”

“No,” Spencer raised an eyebrow. “Absolutely not. Someone will die. And I’m not cleaning up the blood.”

“I wouldn’t _kill_ him. Just maybe take off an arm.”

Bob struggled up to his feet and moved to start helping pull the fitted metal from Brendon’s arms. Spencer was mildly fascinated by how _carefully_ Bob removed the pieces. He flipped the faceplate down over Brendon’s face, startling another laugh out of him before Bob pulled it gently off his head.

“Please don’t deglove any of Bill’s staff.”

“Deglove?” Spencer asked, not hiding the curiosity in his voice.

“When someone loses fingers, sometimes a hand. Usually in a work accident. And because they’re fucking stupid.” Bob rolled his eyes and knelt down to get at the shin cover.

Looking down, Brendon dropped a hand on Bob’s shoulder. It was obviously for balance, but Spencer’s breath still stuttered for a moment. Just. The way Bob half-smiled when he looked up at Brendon and how Brendon didn’t even seem to notice he was playing with the ends of Bob’s hair...

Fuck. Spencer needed to _not_ think about this right now. Fucking Travis.

Spencer cleared his throat. “You see that happen a lot?”

“Enough,” Bob told them. He sounded so final that Spencer didn’t push. What was one more piece of mystery to add to the overall enigma that was Bob Bryar?

It would be really fucking annoying if it didn’t just serve to fuel Spencer’s curiosity.

All the armor was set aside, a neat line of protective gear on what might have been a buffet table at some point. Brendon was alternating sideways glances at Bob with fiddling with a piece of chain mail.

“I sort of just want to wear this around. Over all my shirts.” He lifted the piece up, holding it to his chest. Spencer watched the way his forearms flexed with effort; no one worked rolled up sleeves like Brendon. “That brown corduroy vest would look awesome with it, right?”

Spencer and Bob snorted simultaneously.

“Might need to work on that upper body strength first, Bren,” Spencer said.

“Probably want to work on finding one that’s not three sizes too big, too,” Bob added.

Predictably, Brendon pouted. “You guys ruin all my fun.”

“That’s our goal in life,” Spencer rolled his eyes. “I was going to see what’s going on with Siska’s puppies.” It was a lie, but only a little one. Spencer actually had no idea what was happening with the dog Siska had taken in and realized was pregnant about a week later.

Brendon perked up almost instantly. “Has Lila had her puppies yet? I’m stealing one to bring to our new house, by the way. And you can’t stop me. I’d like to see you fucking try!”

Spencer laughed as Brendon started back through the disarray Spencer had already passed. Brendon paused long enough to press a quick kiss to Spencer’s cheek; it barely cut into the monologue he was working on.

Rolling his eyes, Spencer shrugged and let Brendon ramble. Things were generally more fun when Brendon just said whatever was running through his head at any given moment.

“He has no censor,” Bob muttered, but he sounded cheerful about it.

“He’s Brendon,” Spencer pointed out. He gave Bob a small smile, ducking his head and turning to follow Brendon as soon as he felt his cheeks start to heat up.

And great, wonderful. Now, he was blushing like a little girl. Fan-fucking-tastic. Spencer sighed and tried to retreat without looking like he was fleeing.

**********

Somehow, after dinner, nearly everyone ended up in the main lounge. From the looks of the walls, it had once been a library before it was converted to a sitting room. Spencer figured that had to do with the _huge_ fireplace that took up most of one whole wall.

There were two sofas, a long one meant for three and a short one for two. Both were an emerald green that matched the accents in the burgundy rug covering the slightly scuffed hardwood floor. An ivory chaise lounge bridged the gap between the two sofas, and a matching armchair completed the misshapen rectangle from the other side of the large, round, glass-covered table in the center. Admittedly, Spencer was a little in love with this room, for reasons that didn’t only include the fireplace’s heat to offset the rapidly dropping evening temperatures.

Siska had taken up residence at the bar, which occupied the wall opposite the fireplace, while the rest of them largely lounged about. Brendon, being Brendon, had managed to wedge himself onto the two-person sofa between Bob and Spencer.

It was a tight fit, but no one seemed to mind. Ray was sprawled across the chaise, randomly kicking Frank in the shoulder when he got too close, while Butcher, Carden, and Mikey were playing some complicated card game on the sofa. It made Spencer’s head hurt to try to follow; he’d stopped paying attention to them fifteen minutes in.

Beckett was rambling about Brendon’s party, Gerard taking down what might have been notes but was probably a diagram of skeleton chandeliers or something from his place in the floor in front of Bill’s chair.

“Here’s what I’m thinking. What I’m thinking _is_ \- Are you ready for it?”

Travie stretched out a little more on the arm of Bill’s chair. Somehow, he managed to maintain his precariously perched position while hitting Beckett in the side of the head. “Get on with it.”

“We invite _everyone_. We make this _the_ fucking social event of the motherfucking _season_. Brendon’s girls can be the entertainment-”

Brendon choked on his drink, leaning up to set it on the table. Bob slapped his back, jarring the words Brendon was trying to get out. “Uh. Bill, you know they’re not prostitutes, right?”

Beckett waved a hand in dismissal. “They can sing and play shit. That’s what I mean. And we get Greta to cater because our asses can’t pull that off. Pete’s going to have a field day getting everyone outfitted.” He paused, seemingly for his usual dramatic effect. “Biggest. Event. Until New Year’s. Yeah, Brendon?”

“Yeah,” Brendon agreed. His whole face was lit up like he didn’t know whether to be embarrassed, touched, excited, or some combination thereof. “We can make it an all night thing? Dinner, dancing, cards, the whole fucking shebang, right?”

There was a legitimate question in that. Slouching down, Spencer tugged at Brendon until Brendon turned his body into Spencer’s. Bob dropped his hand off the back of the sofa and onto Spencer’s shoulder, trapping Brendon between them.

“Hell yeah!” Beckett promised, excitement rising. “We’ll start talking to everyone as soon as you pick a date. Gerard and Frank have to go into town to start looking at what they can make into decorations anyway.”

Butcher yawned, loud and obnoxious. “I’ve got to go out for more equipment, try to get the land ready so winter doesn’t fuck it up. They can go with me.”

With Brendon’s ankle hooked around his and Bob’s thumb tapping a simple rhythm against Spencer’s throat... somehow, with that going on, Spencer managed to build up some courage, just a bit. It was enough to force out a simple request.

“I’ve, um, a list. For the house, I mean. I should probably go get that stuff so I can finish it before it starts snowing or raining again.” He bit his lip, fresh out of grit.

Brendon, always more perceptive than most people gave him credit for, slipped a hand into Spencer’s, leaning his forehead to Spencer’s temple.

“Sure!” Beckett didn’t miss a beat. “Whenever you want to go. We’ll send the cart or the carriage with you. I’ll get you a line out with Pedicone and he’ll get you whatever you want.”

“Um. Thanks... Bill.”

When Spencer looked up to offer a smile or something resembling one, Bill was grinning. His entire face was occupied with the expression, and for maybe the first time, Spencer saw why everyone trusted him so much. His expression was so bright and open that Spencer almost felt _guilty_ for being so cautious.

Each day made it more difficult to remember that he had _not_ been given emancipation papers just yet. And that he was the only slave on the estate. Except for how it was always in the back of his mind, reminding him when things started to feel... nice.

“When did you want to go? This week?” Travis asked.

Spencer shrugged, turning to look at Brendon, even if he had to cross his eyes to meet Brendon’s. “Do you have a -” Spencer stopped to edit out the word free. “Do you have an open day this week?”

Brendon rolled his eyes up to think, tapping his fingers against Spencer’s hand like he was counting. Pulling back a bit, leaning into Bob, Brendon shook his head; his frown deepened.

“I have next Saturday, but I promised Adam we’d look for the cave again.”

Siska started to say something, but Frank was already talking about wanting to see Pedicone because they were _plotting_ so he could stand to go twice. Bob cut over them both.

“I’ll go with him. I need shit anyway.”

A hush fell. For normal crowds, it might not be so obvious, but a quiet moment was hard to find among this bunch.

Ray snorted. and that seemed to be the cue. Frank positively cackled and Gerard nearly knocked over his inkwell when he started waving his hands, words coming out too choppy under his laughter to be identified as belonging to any language. Even Mikey was startled into a laugh, giving Bob a significant look that matched the one Travie threw at Spencer when their eyes accidentally locked.

There was way too much going on, and Spencer had been thinking entirely too much all day. Instead of playing into their games, he slouched down a bit and rested his head against Brendon’s shoulder.

“You _need shit_ ,” Frank snorted. “You need to grow some balls.”

“It’s sort of sweet,” Gerard snickered. “It’s like watching awkward puppies. Really vicious, awkward puppies. Stop fucking growling at me, Bryar.”

“He’s making a _noble_ sacrifice. A prince among fucking men,” Ray threw in.

“Bob’s trying to kill us with the power of his mind,” Mikey added.

Butcher wasn’t about to miss this, apparently. “When his eyes start flashing red, we run. Give it a few minutes.”

“Maybe Gerard’s been painting prophecies,” Mikey suggested.

“Not fucking true,” Frank mumbled.

“Shut up, assholes,” Bob finally said. His fingers twitched on Spencer’s shoulder, the beat he’d been tapping faltering before picking up speed.

Something fluttered low in Spencer’s stomach, warm and curling. Spencer pressed closer to Brendon. Beckett and Siska were starting to get in on the teasing, and it was harshing Spencer’s mellow mood.

“Thanks, Bryar,” he said through a yawn. “Told you I’d make you go with me. Ray’d be more boring anyway.”

“Of course you say that,” Ray laughed.

For his part, Bob didn’t say anything, just slowed the rhythm of his tapping and threw in something like a caress on the offbeats. Spencer sighed and settled more firmly against Brendon, who laughed but braced himself under the added weight.

Interest in Bob’s offer tapered off as everyone started bickering amongst themselves. Siska wandered over and sat on the table, even though Spencer heard Brendon throw something at him. Spencer just closed his eyes and used his free hand to cover a yawn.

Brendon and Siska were talking about their many woodsman-style adventures which couldn’t hold Spencer’s interest. He’d already heard all their stories and plans a dozen times; at least it kept the boys entertained.

They were in the middle of their continued debate about the fork in the main path when Spencer started to fade out. Their voices grew fuzzier, turning to general white noise as they talked. Siska was pushing for the clear path first, wanting to get it out of the way. Brendon kept up his argument that it was boring and the cave was this weird mystery on the estate so _obviously_ no one had been there. Besides, he didn’t mind working for it if he got to see something fucking interesting at the end.

Spencer thought about laughing, feeling like Brendon was accidentally talking about something else entirely. Unsure of what that innuendo even _was_ , Spencer switched his attention to Bob’s fingers and the sound of his voice, low and deep as he discussed something with Ray. It was mind-numbing and oddly centering, even enough that when Spencer counted the beats in his head he couldn’t hold on the wakefulness much longer.

**********

Every once in a while, someone would say something - Bill’s voice jumping in volume, or Frank giggling at Gerard - just loud enough for Spencer to catch it. Someone kept shushing everyone every time Spencer stirred or made some noise. Before Spencer could force himself into wakefulness, everything would slip back into the soft drone of multiple voice cadences merging into one.

At some point, he was distantly aware of slipping sideways.

“Bren?” Spencer managed to mutter in a sleep roughened voice.

“Right here,” Brendon huffed a soft laugh.

“Go back to sleep, Spencer.” That voice was lower, more serious. Bob.

Spencer was too drained to do more than hum in assent and settle more firmly into the back of the sofa.

Later, when the fire was burning low and the lamps were no longer casting a glow on the face of the grandfather clock, Spencer stirred. He wasn’t sure why at first, sleep disorientation making everything more hazy than usual. There were a few seconds where he didn’t recognize the surroundings and nearly panicked at not being safe in his bed in Brendon and his room.

But Brendon was right there, hand lax around Spencer’s wrist, holding Spencer’s arm around his waist. Instinctively, Spencer tightened his arm to pull Brendon further back on the sofa.

It must have been Brendon’s ridiculously high body heat and the surprisingly heavy quilt holding all that warmth in that woke him. He shimmied a little, wiggling to move the blanket down some. He flexed his toes to get the feeling back from where his feet were hanging off the edge of the short sofa.

He was too tall for this, his legs too long to stay in this position. Regardless, Spencer was comfortable. The cushions were over-stuffed and wrapped perfectly around his body, and Brendon was right there. Yawning, Spencer squinted into the darkness to look down at Brendon.

Brendon looked good like this, calm in sleep in a way he never was during the day. Natural exuberance and nervous energy kept him moving and chattering at rates that sometimes made Spencer’s head spin. He liked when Brendon was like this, still and innocent-looking.

He was damn near perfect.

Soft snores, ones that Spencer knew from experience didn’t belong to Brendon, finally caught Spencer’s attention. His eyes were adjusted _just enough_ to the darkness that he could make out another person stretched out in the chaise lounge they always made fun of Bill for keeping.

Bob, surprisingly, looked completely tame when he slept. Gone were the sharp lines around his mouth and the tense crinkles at the edges of his eyes. A barely-there smile crossed his lips and Spencer had to force himself to look away. Glancing down, Spencer saw Brendon’s hand, the one not attached to Spencer, resting on Bob’s thigh. Brendon’s fingers were curved into the material of Bob’s work trousers, still covered in dirt from whatever he’d been working on or dust from when he was playing in the attic with Brendon.

Biting his lip, Spencer tried making his brain work, to analyze the way he couldn’t stop staring at Bob’s face or the casually possessive hold Brendon had on him. But his eyes were already drooping again, the steady _tick-tick-tock_ from the grandfather clock making Spencer drift.

He decided it wasn’t worth obsessing over. Instead, he buried his face against Brendon’s shoulder and willed himself to fall asleep again, dreamless in a way that was still rare enough to be treasured.

It didn’t take long.  


**********

  
**[Part Three]**   


The rest of the week passed without anything interesting happening. Brendon taught the girls music. Spencer worked on the house. Bob hovered in that way where he pretended not to and spent a lot of time organizing the attic.

No one really _cared_ about the attic, but Brendon had tripped over an empty drawer last Tuesday and had jammed his wrist. He hadn’t been able to play for two days, spending all his time outside of lessons chattering at Spencer and trying to hang onto him. Spencer tried to remind him he was free; no one could punish him for accidentally injuring himself. He suspected that was the same reason Bob was dealing with the Beckett family’s assorted junk; he was doing his own version of keeping Brendon safe.

Spencer tried not to think about what that meant.

By the time Saturday rolled around, everyone needed a break.

Breakfast was barely over when Brendon and Siska scampered off to get their things together. Spencer was helping Ray clean up the kitchen when they finally resurfaced. Both Brendon and Siska were wearing tattered trousers that had been patched a few times and simple shirts that didn’t look too thick. Siska started getting some water together as Brendon bounced up to Spencer.

“Today, my fair lady - “

Ray snorted and Spencer flicked him with the edge of a towel.

Brendon was still talking. “Today, we embark on adventures for parts unknown! The dangers will be many. There will be wildlife-”

“Squirrels,” Spencer nodded, solemn.

“-food of questionable origin-”

“I think Frank made the bread you’re taking so... about right,” Ray added.

“-and other dangers we cannot foresee,” Brendon finished, as if no one had said anything at all. Instead, he grinned, wide and disarming. “Will you wait for me, Spencer Smith?”

Something knotted in Spencer’s stomach.

“Yeah,” he forced out. “Where else am I going to go?”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Still grinning, Brendon stretched up, chin tilted expectantly.

Spencer dropped a quick kiss to Brendon’s lips, but his throat was too dry for him to say anything as Brendon followed Siska toward the foyer. Brendon was calling something over his shoulder, but there was this inexplicable buzzing in Spencer’s ears, white noise that wouldn’t let anything else in.

Brendon was doing something _fun_. He’d finally talked Siska into investigating the more complicated route. Nothing about that should be so alarming. Except the part where Brendon could go do that without worrying about anything.

Brendon could go anywhere he wanted. He was free now, had papers with all the wax seals in the right places and the signatures over the designated lines. And Spencer was going to be left waiting. Whereever Brendon wanted to go, all Spencer could do was wait and hope like hell that Brendon would come home.

“Fuck,” Spencer whispered. He blinked quickly, several times, trying to focus in on _anything_

When he could make sense of reality again, Ray was gone. Instead, Bob was leaning in the doorway, watching Spencer with some sort of fascination. Or pity; Spencer really hoped it wasn’t pity.

Bob opened his mouth but instead of asking what was wrong or telling Spencer to get over himself, all he said was, “You about ready?”

“Um,” Spencer squinted. “For what?”

Bob smiled, sort of; it was the same look he always got when Spencer glared. “Pedicone’s? You need shit for the fieldhouse. Butcher has the cart hooked up to one of the horses and the one you like is saddled up.”

Spencer knew he was getting a little pink. Oh. He’d sort of forgotten about this. He’d forgotten about it in that way that happens when you think about it constantly until right before you actually need to remember it.

He looked down at the pants he’d slept in and the too-small shirt he’d pulled on that morning; it may have actually belonged to Brendon. “Uh. Give me a few minutes?”

“Sure,” Bob shrugged.

The prickle on the back of Spencer’s neck, the feeling of being watched, stayed with him until he cleared the back stairs and hit the landing for the second floor.

Spencer tried to rush around, running a comb through his hair and finding acceptable town clothes. Town always made him nervous. Towns meant shopping centers and merchant squares. Merchant squares meant stationary and/or traveling sales houses: traders and resigned looking slaves being gawked at by potential owners.

It was never really a fun experience. Even Brendon - who could fake his way through anything and always smiled more when he was upset - avoided town when he could and usually held onto whoever was conveniently close.

Spencer really didn’t want to look out of place, so he tried to emulate the things he’d seen Bill wear when he’d been going to parties at Pete’s or dinners at Greta’s. He ended up in slim-legged white trousers with gray pinstripes and a matching vest over a white collared shirt. He threw on a black bow tie just for kicks and tied up a pair of black boots that Bob had handeddown to him.

It was as good as things were going to get.

Spencer found Bob outside with their horses. Both were field hunters - even if they probably hadn’t been used for hunting since Siska made Bill buy them - and roughly the same color; Spencer couldn’t tell one brown horse from the next.

Bob finished toying with the flat-bed cart hitched to his horse and turned to Spencer.

“Need a leg up?”

Spencer’s eyes narrowed before he even thought about it. What the hell? He didn’t need _help_ for something so trivial.

“No. I’ve got this shit.”

Squaring his shoulders, Spencer walked purposefully to the horse they’d brought out for him. He really did hate horses and the feeling seemed to be mutual; it was a definite hate-hate relationship. Still, since Bob was watching with his half-amused and judging stare, Spencer gripped the pommel and slipped his foot into the stirrup.

“Please don’t throw me,” he whispered in his most soothing voice. He didn’t know much about horses, but politeness couldn’t hurt.

He pulled himself up, swinging his leg around at the last second and...managed not to fall or get thrown on his ass. Awesome!

Bob laughed, not just a resigned chuckle. It was a surprisingly clear, bright sound. Spencer was startled when he realized he wanted to hear it basically all the time; the only other thing that came close to that was his desire to see Brendon’s smile every second.

“The road shouldn’t be too busy this late. Shouldn’t take more than three-quarters of an hour,” Bob explained, already urging his horse forward.

Spencer sat up a little straighter and followed along.

**********

Bob ended up being right: the road was nearly empty. A couple men tipped their hats as they rode by, and a few girls giggled and ducked their heads as they picked wildflowers. Otherwise, the area seemed deserted, except for the people he barely glimpsed as they worked in the fields; he tried not to wonder if they were slaves.

As town grew closer, the houses did as well. Where Beckett’s neighbors were acres away, the ones in town became clusters with narrow alleys separating them. That led to buildings that touched, seemed crammed into too small a space, but were beautiful nonetheless.

Shepherdville was actually a picturesque little township. The light bricked homes, cobblestone streets, and recently painted storefronts were all things Spencer couldn’t help finding beautiful. Superficially.

There were maybe ten shops total. Most of them, through necessity, were strange combinations of unrelated trades: Decaydance (Pete and Patrick’s tailor-slash-funeral home), Summer House (Greta’s inn-slash-bakery-slash-instrument repair), and, with the most obvious name, Pedicone’s Hardware and Jewel Emporium. There were other buildings, as well - a pub, a bank, an upscale restaurant, the church, the dancehall, the sheriff's office, and the post office - but Spencer hadn’t been in any of those yet. Basically, this wasn’t a sprawling city, not large enough for an actual slave house or busy enough to catch the attention of the traveling sales houses.

There was no _reason_ Spencer should be so nervous. Except for how _everyone_ seemed to know everyone _else_. He was going to look like such an impostor.

As they entered the slightly busier Main Street, Spencer’s skin started crawling. He was getting twitchy and shifting almost constantly in the saddle. After the fifth person waved to Bob and shouted some sort of nonsense, Spencer gave up and slouched back against the cantle.

Bob rode to the alley behind Pedicone’s and tied his horse to the rein hitch carved into a post. Spencer followed his actions, mostly on autopilot. Spencer spent an inordinate amount of time staring at the reins he was holding, wondering why his hands were vibrating.

“Hey,” Bob said. He dropped a hand on Spencer’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze before sliding down to grip Spencer’s elbow. “Got your list?”

Spencer let himself be steered around to the front of the shop while he dug through his pockets for his list. He handed it to Bob, because he didn’t know what else to do. Bob looked it over and nodded.

“All right. He should have all this in stock. Most people mend everything over the summer.” Bobpushed through the door and kept talking. If Spencer had been paying any attention, he would have been startled by the sheer amount of words coming out of Bob’s mouth.

As it were, Spencer didn’t hear any of it, too busy looking at everything. He hadn’t been in a real store (other than Pete’s, which didn’t hold many finished products) in... he actually didn’t know how long. There were just so many... things. It was sort of overwhelming, almost as bad as the amount of people browsing shelves and chatting in aisles.

He felt sort of aimless as Bob moved deftly around the store, picking things up and handing a few back for Spencer to carry. When they had everything except the lumber Spencer needed for the doorframe and windowpanes, Bob left him on his own.

Bob was off getting whoever was working to help load the things that were held in the storage shed and Spencer didn’t know what to do with himself. Spencer was wandering, trying to ignore the stares he was imagining on his back.

He stopped at a counter, looking through the open window behind it to the rows of jewels and other shiny objects hanging along the walls. Gold and silver glittered in the afternoon sun filtering in through the windows. He was honestly a little mesmerized by it all.

A loud cough caught his attention.

“You going to stand there all day, boy, or are you buying something?” A deep voice asked.

Spencer had been on edge since they hit Main Street, and sharp tones from people he didn’t know weren’t exactly what he was prepared for. Schooling his features into his best glower, all squinted eyes and his mouth in a straight line, Spencer turned. His arms were still full of merchandise so he couldn’t cock his hips the way he wanted, but he doubted that would have mattered.

The man was wearing clothes that put Spencer’s to shame, meaning he must have bought them in the city instead of from Pete. He was about Spencer’s height, with darker hair that was cut short but styled perfectly. Spencer sort of wanted to hit him in his smug face.

“Not deaf then. Just stupid? They’ll let anyone in here these days,” the man scoffed. A boy beside him, about thirteen but a near copy of who must be his father, laughed.

“Pardon?” Spencer asked, voice flat.

“I’m waiting here. Soon as Pedicone’s new lackey gets back from helping the oaf load his cart, I’ll be spending more money than you’ve ever seen.” He sounded perfectly uninterested in everything.

The bored ones were always the most dangerous. But this jerk didn’t own Spencer - Bill did, sort of, technically - so he couldn’t actually do anything.

“Were you here first?” Spencer tried not to sound confrontational but knew his words were clipped.

“Does it matter?” He huffed. “Not from around here? I own half this township, boy. If I say move, you do it.”

Spencer bristled. The man’s kid laughed again. Spencer tightened his hold on the boxes he was gripping; the sharp edges kept him from lashing out. Instead, he thought about his tone, controlled it as much as he could, and tried to sound like the coldest asshole he’d ever met.

“You don’t have the right papers to get to tell me _shit_.”

When the man and a couple bystanders froze, Spencer realized his mistake. Just fucking great.

“Wait, Dad,” the boy was saying. “What’s...”

“Slave?” His voice lilted like it was a question, but his eyes were mocking. “Out and about in the middle of the day and no owner strapped to you? Let me see your papers,” he demanded.

“Um,” Spencer spluttered.

 _Shit. Fucking hell._ How could he forget to ask Beckett for Papers of Permissions? Whenever slaves were actually sent out, rare as that usually was, they were _always_ supposed to have a sealed letter from their owner outlining where they were going and for what purpose.

“Oh,” the man nodded slowly. “I see. Runaway, then? Trying to sneak supplies out?” He stepped closer, his chest nearly brushing the boxes Spencer was clutching. “That is not how this works. You remember what you are and who controls you. Someone got sloppy; I doubt that happens again. Jonah!” He snapped his fingers until his son stepped up. “Run and grab Sheriff Gilbert. Tell him we have a violent runaway on our hands.”

The boy nodded and was off, the crowded in audience parting smoothly for him. Spencer watched the boy go with a sort of detached horror.

There weren’t many options in a situation like this. Runaways were among the highest level of criminals. Lawmen rarely allowed a runaway any lenience, didn’t have time to pander to those trying to break out of their assigned role. Running was a risk, because if you were caught? If someone caught a slave who was on the run, the slave almost never saw another sale. The types of retraining designed for runaways were enough to reduce someone to a complete neurotic mess. And that was only if the owner didn’t come to claim the slave; owners usually punished runaways far more violently than anything else.

If a slave was running, it was either make it or die. Death was usually preferable.

Spencer was in the middle of trying to figure out how likely he was to make it back to Beckett’s if he could just run fast enough when he heard someone shoving through the crowd.

It was over.

He was going to be taken in, beaten, locked up, and sent to a training master. Spencer was never going to see Brendon again, never get to touch his hand or kiss him or toy with his hair. Hopefully, Bob would tell Brendon that Spencer hadn’t been taken on purpose.

“What the fuck is this?” Bob snapped from somewhere to Spencer’s right.

The man reached out, gripping Spencer’s forearm so hard there would be bruises. “None of your concern, Bryar. A little matter with a runaway. It’s taken care of.”

“The fucking _hell_ it is.” Bob had never sounded so... growly. His voice was low, catching in his throat and rumbling on the way out. His eyes were wide, but it was more of a glare than any glower Spencer had ever seen. “Get your smug-ass fucking hands off him, Nance.”

Nance scoffed, his fingers digging in deeper when Spencer tried to jerk away. “Don’t go getting sympathetic with the livestock. We don’t need more runaways tarnishing out good tow-”

The hold on Spencer’s arm was gone in an instant. He turned, eyes so wide and unblinking that they were already drying out. This couldn’t... It didn’t make any _sense_.

Bob had Nance bent backwards over the counter. One hand was around the man’s throat, the other fisted in his overpriced shirt. Bob’s mouth was twisted into a sneer and he was speaking quick and low. Spencer was the closest to them, but he couldn’t make out any of the words.

Nance was gasping, or trying to - both hands tugging unsuccessfully at Bob’s arm.

“Dad!” Jonah was back, looking terrified and panting for breath from having run down the street and back.

Suddenly, Bob stepped back and dropped his hands. Nance rolled to his side, dragging in heavy breaths, coughing.

“Don’t make me bring in the good Baronet Beckett,” Bob said, nastily. “He’ll make your finances a living hell after I ruin your fucking life. Fucking try me.” Without taking his eyes off of Nance or acknowledging the lawman working his way through the crowd, Bob started talking again. “Spencer, put that on Bill’s tab. Mike already did the rest.”

“What the - “

“Spencer,” Bob whispered, urgent.

Spencer tried not to stomp to the till at the end of the counter or slam his things down onto it. He knew he was a little violent with the bell, but _fuck_.

He wasn’t sure he said another word as his purchases were added to Beckett’s running total and he headed back toward the door.

Such a waste of a day.

**********

Halfway back to Beckett’s, they still hadn’t said anything. Spencer was too busy trying to stay on his horse while hating the entire world to make any attempts at conversation.

What the hell had been that guy’s problem? Spencer didn’t have much faith in people that weren’t Brendon, Ryan, Jon, Bob, Travie, or Gerard - it was, admittedly, a slowly growing list. He’d seen the type of evil that came with giving someone power over anything or anyone else. But he hadn’t _done_ anything, as far as he could tell.

Then there was Bob. Maybe Spencer should be grateful, should be thanking Bob from the bottom of his heart, but what? Spencer was fucking _self-sufficient_ , all right? He didn’t need someone jumping to his defense, especially not Bob with his perfect ability to remain unruffled in every other situation. Spencer wasn’t sure who he was angrier with at the moment.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he muttered before he could stop himself.

Spencer didn’t bother to look away from the road to check Bob’s reaction. The subsequent silence went on for so long that Spencer thought his comment had been lost under the sound of hoof-beats and clicking cart wheels.

“Yeah, I did,” Bob snapped.

Spencer turned his head fast enough to crack his neck, but Bob wasn’t looking at him. While he was actually looking forward, his eyes seemed distant from what Spencer could see.

“Why? I could have... I don’t know. I would have figured something out.” Which was a lie. Spencer had no idea what he had planned on doing back there, but people didn’t do this for him. They didn’t just jump on people or give things up to protect him.

Except Brendon, who was a special case.

“Spencer... You don’t get caught when you run. I learned from fucking _experience_ , okay? If Butcher hadn’t been in the right fucking place at the right time...” He trailed off; they both knew where he’d have ended up.

“But I thought Bill bought you,” Spencer said softly. It was a faux pas to bring up how a slave or former slave had changed hands, but Spencer couldn’t make sense of it.

“He did,” Bob nodded. Taking a deep breath, he glanced at Spencer quickly before continuing. “I wasn’t supposed to be a slave. But my family didn’t make harvest a few times, my father took off, my mother got sick. I couldn’t cover the bills on my own and the debt piled up too fast.”

Bob should have sounded upset, but Spencer only heard emptiness in his voice. It made him shiver, even though the wind was still and the sun was ironically bright.

“I got contracted into servitude. Five years of working security for some asshole bougie type and I was free to do what I wanted.” Bob laughed then, a harsh ugly sound.

Spencer winced.

“He kept changing my time served. Every time I signed my paperwork, he had removed tasks or added a _room and board_ fee. I probably never would have gotten out, so I left. I left and I ended up here, working where I could and crashing with anyone who had the space or store rooms when a shop owner felt bad.”

Spencer was starting to see where this was going, and he fucking _hated_ it.

“I was spending half my time doing grunt work at a pub and the rest was out at the butcher shop, mostly doing clean-up, behind the scenes shit. That’s where I met Butcher.” He huffed a little, almost genuine amusement. “He was the worst fucking apprentice. Siska was working for Bill and got Butcher on out there. Then they put me up front.”

Public eye. Spencer knew all about trying to hide under the radar. Today was just one more example of the shit that happened when the lowest class of humans earned unwanted attention.

“It was fine for a week or so. There must have been a warrant out, some sheriff’s deputy saw me running a delivery and they snatched me up about an hour later. Never fucking saw it coming. They had me in lock up for a few days; I don’t even know how long it was.”

Spencer wanted to slide off his horse, pull Bob down, and just hang on for a while. He didn’t remember ever having an intense need to hug someone before; it must be Brendon’s influence. Spencer knew better, though. Bob was too rigid, movement too controlled even considering he was riding a horse, with the extra burden of the cart being pulled along behind him.

“I knew they were gearing up to ship me to the trainers, but Bill got there first. I don’t know how Butcher knew; I guess he overheard some shit. Bill bought me before they bothered to train me. Spent an actual fuckton of money on me, too. Freed me a year later.”

Part of Spencer wanted to ask questions. There was obviously so much going unsaid, but Bob never pushed him so Spencer wasn’t about to be that rude. Eventually, maybe, they’d figure each other out.

“I - ” Spencer took some deep breaths. “I didn’t know...”

Which wasn’t nearly what he should have said, but what the hell was he supposed to do with all this? Sure, he’d wanted to know about Bob’s past, had invented all sorts of sordid tales - most far worse than this one. None of that mattered because now he knew the truth and as simple as the story sounded, Spencer _knew_ , could hear it in the mostly dry and partially bitter tone Bob used that everything had still hurt.

“You couldn’t have,” Bob shrugged. “But now you know. I had to do something today. You deserved someone on your side, anyway.”

There wasn’t anything to say to that, nothing that would explain the slow heat crawling up Spencer’s neck and face, or the way his stomach sort of bottomed out. Spencer just did what his mother had always taught him, one of the few things he still remembered clearly.

“Thank you.”

Bob nodded but just sped up, pushing the horse as fast as he dared with the load he was pulling. Luckily, the lane for the house was close, and the awkwardness wouldn’t have to last too terribly much longer.

Hopefully.

**********

New building materials were enough of an excuse for Spencer to hide from the rest of the estate for a while. He organized his piles of nails and lumber into stacks based on which room they were needed to fix. He measured and cut the wood to fit in frames or arranged stones tentatively around holes in the foundation. Actual mending could be done later, when everything was ready to be properly fixed into place.

The day wore on quickly and Spencer found himself too preoccupied with his fieldhouse to think about Bob or Nance and his fucking owner complex. He worked up a sweat and probably ruined his clothing since he hadn’t bothered to change, just pulled his bow tie free and shrugged out of his vest. He was actually feeling pretty good by the time dusk fell.

Spencer gathered his discarded pieces of clothing and shut up the house o he could head in for dinner. He was going to be later than usual; most everyone who spent their time closer to the main house ate as soon as whatever someone cooked was done.

Brendon was usually one of those people, Spencer realized as he walked around to the outer kitchen door. It was sort of strange that Brendon hadn’t come to collect Spencer yet; he always did that when Spencer got busy doing something, or he sent Bob in his place. Brendon must have just been too preoccupied with his tales of adventure. Spencer didn’t worry; Brendon would tell him everything later, regardless of if Spencer had already heard the stories or not.

A small smile curved Spencer’s lips at the thought. They’d fallen into bed still chattering at each other in whispers ever since Brendon was officially freed. They talked about everything and nothing until one of them got distracted kissing lips and necks, petting hair and any exposed skin within reach. It never went much further than that, but it was nice, all the same.

Spencer laughed at himself as he walked into the dining room. It took a moment to notice that things were much quieter than usual, almost somber.

Whatever mirth Spencer had been building up fell flat when the whispered conversations stopped. He was really getting sick of stopping whole conversations with just his presence. They must have heard about the scene he’d caused in town. Fucking great; Beckett was never going to let him out in public again, not that Spencer was too keen on going anyway.

“What’s going on?” He asked, defensive. “Did... something happen?”

Glancing around, Spencer took stock of everyone. Bill was at the head of the table, as always, with Travie to his left and Butcher to his right. Gerard and Frank were beside Butcher, Mikey and Carden rounding out their side. Siska was beside Travie, Ray next with an empty seat between him and Bob.

Brendon was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Brendon?”

Siska shifted, squirmed around.

“Come sit,” Ray suggested.

Spencer bristled. Something was going on with Brendon, and no one was _saying_ anything. “No. Where’s Brendon?”

Bob bit at his lip ring. He did that sometimes when Spencer was being particularly contrary. “Spencer, please. Sit down and we’ll tell you.”

That sounded like a trap, but Spencer was willing to do anything to find out what everyone else already knew. Spencer felt especially conscious of his body’s every shift as he walked around the table and slid into the seat Bob pushed out for him. He sat rigid, posture perfect, staring at Gerard because he was always a talker and usually an easy target.

When no one said anything, Spencer squinted. He pursed his lips a little and turned the corners down. Without thinking about it, he crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head.

Gerard watched the whole thing, glancing toward Ray then Bob. He turned to look at Bill then stared intently at Siska. He shifted, apparently still feeling the weight of Spencer’s best – as Ryan had dubbed it – bitchface.

Carden snorted. Bill opened his mouth. Siska slouched further in his seat.

Gerard broke.

“Adam fucking lost Brendon!”

“I did not!” Siska practically yelled. He leaned around Ray to look at Spencer, recoiling a little when Spencer turned to look at him instead of Gerard. “I didn’t lose him. I left him on the path when Mike came to get me. One of the horses was having a fit and not letting Frank near her. I was gone maybe an hour. Brendon must have taken a different route; he wasn’t where he should have been.”

Spencer’s blood ran cold, a chill running down his spine fast enough to actually shake him.

“Brendon’s _gone_?”

“I’m sure he just got distracted,” Beckett promised. “He’ll be back. Just give it a little while.”

Spencer shook his head. His gaze fell on the wide windows set at the far end of the room. Dusk was quickly fading, the sunset colors growing duller by the minute.

“Brendon doesn’t like being outside after dark,” Spencer heard himself whispering, but couldn’t seem to stop it. “He had a master that wouldn’t give slaves rooms in the house and put them in this... high-walled kennel thing. There wasn’t a roof. When the moon was gone or the clouds were thick or the lanterns were out... When it was like that, he couldn’t see anything, even the people right beside him. Didn’t know what they were doing when straw cracked or someone gasped or...”

He didn’t realize how quickly he was talking until Bob’s arm settled around his shoulder.

“Okay. Okay. We’re going to go look for him.” Travie sounded more urgent than Spencer had ever heard him. “All right. Where do we need to go?”

Everyone started talking at once, their tones still soft but laced with urgency. Gerard in particular was rambling off people who were nearby. Someone made a list, but Spencer wasn’t sure who it was, too wrapped up in feeling like he was floating somewhere independent of his body.

The solid weight of Bob’s arm was the only thing holding Spencer together.

Spencer didn’t eat, couldn’t even look at anything long enough to fill a plate, but no one pushed. He wasn’t even sure what he was doing, other than sitting there and trying to will himself not to exist.

He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the conversation, the plans, happening around him, but all he kept hearing was Brendon’s voice. Brendon’s voice, quiet and serious in the dark of their room upstairs as he talked about the outside slave kennel and how he hadn’t slept more than an hour a night for the six months he’d been there. He’d only been thirteen years old.

“We’ll be back as soon as we can,” Mikey said, close enough to Spencer’s ear that Spencer actually heard him.

Spencer nodded.

“I swear he’ll be okay, Spencer. We’re going to find him; he’ll probably be back before we are,” Siska told him, more earnest than usual.

Spencer nodded again and didn’t open his eyes until everything had fallen silent. He opened his eyes and the room was empty, save for Bob still sitting beside him.

“Let’s go to the lounge.”

“I... can’t. We have to go... We have to do something. I can’t... If Brendon’s hurt or...” Spencer swallowed around the lump in his throat, keeping what came after that _or_ locked inside.

“It’s taken care of. We’re going to stay and wait, be here when Brendon shows up and gets all fluttery and shit because he caused such a fuss.” Bob sounded so reasonable that Spencer let himself be pulled up and urged to the other side of the house.

Bob explained all the things Spencer had been too panicked to hear. Frank, Butcher, and Siska could work the horses better so they headed for the path where Siska had left Brendon; it would take some serious maneuvering to get around the overgrowth and fallen trees. Gerard and Mikey headed out to their closest neighbors, the four estates bordering Beckett’s. Ray took Carden to call on Sarah, Cassadee, Hayley, and Ashlee in hopes that Brendon had remembered an in-home lesson or something. Bill and Travie were tackling the tavern, well aware that the lay-abouts downing pints were the most likely to let all the local gossip slip.

Everything was covered, and Spencer honestly didn’t know if he should be thankful that he didn’t have to do anything or pissed that all he _could_ do was wait.

The nothing that came with waiting was harder for Spencer to deal with than he wanted to admit. Bob seemed to know, though, holding onto Spencer in the least obvious ways and telling stories about Gerard’s first month on the estate - which seemed to consist of a lot of getting lost in the attic or the cellar and Mikey having silent tantrums for hours on end.

It only marginally helped.

As it got later, Spencer got touchier. No one seemed to consider the real worse case scenarios here. Things could be so much worse than Brendon getting hurt and needing help getting back. Even if thinking about Brendon being alone and too terrified to trace his steps home made Spencer’s heart ache, that was still not the scariest situation imaginable.

Filching happened all the time; Spencer knew that from personal fucking experience. He was a kid, a freeborn kid, who got sidetracked when he was running an errand for his mother, and he was filched right in the middle of the village where he’d spent his entire, safe childhood. Brendon being filched, a former slave, someone who might not look like he was owned but still acted like he might be beaten when he was nervous… people like that could be filched in a second. It’s not like Brendon knew how to fight.

Leaning into Spencer’s shoulder, just enough to make his presence known, Bob settled more firmly against the short sofa.

“I’ll teach him. When he’s back. I’ll make sure he can handle himself. I should have fucking done that from the beginning. Jesus.” Bob’s voice seemed thin and worn out.

When Spencer turned to look at him, there were shadows over his eyes from the way he had his head tilted, and his hair was hiding his face. Spencer had never seen Bob like that, hadn’t even known it was possible for Bob to be so… lost? Lost didn’t seem right, but Spencer didn’t have Ryan’s antiquated vocabulary to guide him.

At a loss for anything else to do, Spencer pressed his knee against Bob’s and reached out to push the hair from his eyes. “I tried to teach him once. So did Nate, when Saporta still owned us. His left hook sucks, and there’s no subtlety to his moves.”

Bob snorted. “You tried? Since when are you a fighter? The bitchface is killer, but really?”

There was so much skepticism hitting him that Spencer bristled for a second. He’d spent his share of time in traveling sales houses fighting with the other slaves over the ludicrously meager rations they were offered. He’d had an owner who made his new slaves prove themselves against the veterans. Then there was the one who was overly preoccupied with the stories of gladiators in Ancient Greece and set them up for unevenly matched battles in the caged-in basement room.

But Bob didn’t know that, and Spencer wasn’t sure he could bring himself to talk about it. No, not with the way his heart was pounding harder with every tick and tock on the antique grandfather clock Beckett kept in the corner. Every second Brendon didn’t stumble in the door laughing and no one came back with any information, Spencer felt himself slipping a little more into the headspace he’d maintained during the last traveling sales house after Jon and Ryan had been taken and the ever elusive Tom had stumbled across Brendon, actually remembering him as one of Jon’s friends from Saporta’s.

He shook himself. “Didn’t Bren tell you why he got me out? I mauled the trader.” That wasn’t strictly true, but it sounded better than _I broke his nose and was thrown in a cage for three days._

Bob raised an eyebrow. “You have hidden depths I don’t know about, Smith?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe, Bryar.” Surprisingly, Spencer felt a tug at the corner of his lips, not a smile but a close approximation to one.

“We’ll see.” It was cryptic, even for Bob, but Spencer didn’t actually mind.

Not until Gerard and Mikey came stomping in. Mikey’s face was drawn, more so than usual. To anyone who didn’t know better, he’d look blank. Luckily, Spencer had been around just long enough to know the difference between blank and terrified. Gerard shrugged, apologies falling from his lips like it was his fault they didn’t find Brendon.

“We asked the DeLonges, but they don’t know anything. Hoppus was gone; the maid answered the door but said he’d been called out earlier in the evening and had no idea when he’d be back. And Barker hasn’t seen him since raspberry season. Brian said there was a lot of traffic on the lane today… but they didn’t see any traders or slaves...” He hadn’t seemed to take a breath, which was fairly normal for Gerard when he was worked up, but that also didn’t seem to be the end of it.

Mikey elbowed him, giving him a significant look full of eyebrow movements and tiny lip quirks. Gerard was all but cringing, grimacing and looking between Spencer and the wall. Finally, Mikey sighed.

“There were wagons. Looked like regular tradesmen, but…”

Spencer closed his eyes, letting his head drop forward.

“But,” he repeated. They all knew that wagons could masquerade as anything, cover all manner of legal and illegal indiscretions.

A warm weight settled against his neck, Bob’s finger carding lightly through the hair Brendon was surprisingly letting Spencer grow out. Spencer tried to sigh, push the breath out of his lungs under the reassuring weight of the touch, but. But it wouldn’t happen. His chest tightened, throat burned, eyes stung from lack of oxygen or Brendon deprivation.

“Spencer-“ Gerard started, tone a little frantic. Spencer tried to wave him off, shrug off the heavy looks Mikey was giving him as he stepped closer.

“Smith, come on,” Bob muttered, squeezing Spencer’s neck enough to get him to exhale, follow that up with a few gasps. “Good.”

“Do you… Is there anything? Seriously, fucking anything, Spencer, we’ll just…” Gerard would have kept going if not for Mikey.

“Gee. See if Carden and Ray are back from seeing the girls yet. Maybe they know something.” It was a good try, but it was obvious that Mikey didn’t think anyone would have any more information than he did.

Spencer looked up, trying to… something. Thank Mikey for getting Gerard and his fucking earnest desire to fix everything out of there, or show Gerard he appreciated the optimism when everything just looked empty from where Spencer was sitting. Whatever he was attempting, Spencer knew he missed it by a fucking landslide.

Bob wouldn’t let him get the words out, saved him from stuttering some type of nonsense. “You’re going to bed.”

Spencer fell back against the cushions as Bob stood up, knowing he wasn’t hiding the incredulous expression he felt on his face. “No. What the fuck. Brendon’s…where ever the hell he is! I can’t… he’s just… gone, and if he’s not here something’s happened and…I ’m not. Sleeping isn’t. I can’t just. _Bob_.”

There wasn’t actually a reaction. Bob stared at him, his eyes looking more like steel than anything else, expressionless, challenging.

“Up, Spencer. You’re not doing anyone any favors sitting here and panicking.” The words were harsh, but Bob’s eyes were so... sad that Spencer couldn’t take offense. “We’ll go upstairs and wait for him. Someone will come get us when they know something. Just rest a while, yeah?”

Spencer sighed, but took Bob’s hand when it was offered.

**********

  
**[Part Four]**   


Spencer lost track of time once they were safely closed up in Brendon and Spencer’s room. It was late enough in the evening that the sky was too dark to use its color as any type of guide. He could always track down the pocket watch Travie had given him when he’d been there a month, but Bob was already sighing every time Spencer paced across the room to stare out the window. The only reason he knew any time had passed at all was because Bill and Travis stopped by to say they were back, and Ray came to say the girls didn’t know anything.

There was nothing left for anyone to do, nothing _Spencer_ could do, and it was driving him crazy. He’d already changed into a worn pair of work trousers and the first comfortable shirt he pulled out of his drawers. The entire room had been straightened even though it didn’t need it. The fire was roaring, hotter than necessary, but stoking it ate up a minute or so.

Bob shoved up from his seat at the end of Brendon’s bed and grabbed Spencer by the shoulders. “Stop pacing. You’re making me dizzy.”

“Sorry,” Spencer muttered. He wasn’t, but he was polite enough to say it.

“Let’s just sit by the window, okay?” Bob suggested. He led Spencer to the armchair and, more gently than Spencer expected, turned Spencer and pushed him into the chair. Bob stepped up behind the chair and turned it so Spencer could see out the window without sitting sideways. “Okay?”

Spencer slumped back and fixed his eyes on what he thought might be the lane, but the shadows were really too dark to know for sure. He tried not to fidget, but he couldn’t stop bouncing his heels or crossing then re-crossing his legs.

“Spence, you’re kind of a mess,” Bob told him from his place behind the chair.

“Well, I’m sorry,” Spencer snapped, as nastily as he knew how. “But my best friend or...whatever Brendon is. He’s out there somewhere and anything could have happened or he could have gone anywhere. I might never fucking _see_ him again. I’m allowed to be a mess.”

Bob inhaled sharply, but Spencer didn’t hear him let the breath out. Suddenly, Bob was kneeling in front of him. He rested his hands on Spencer’s knees, stilling the bouncing. Spencer tried not to look at him, but it was too hard. Bob was half obstructing the window, the only place Spencer _wanted_ to look, and his eyes were such a vibrant blue. The room was dim - Spencer had refused to light the lamps - but Bob’s eyes were still ridiculously bright. It was kind of like staring at a really blond cat.

Spencer was maybe getting a little hysterical.

“Spencer. Do you think Brendon left you on purpose?”

“What?” Spencer whispered. He shook his head and tried to lean further away. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“That wasn’t an answer,” Bob pointed out. “Do you think Brendon would leave you?”

“He’s free. He could. If he wanted,” Spencer forced out. He wasn’t sure if the words sounded as strangled as they felt.

“Do you think he’d want to?”

Spencer didn’t answer, couldn’t. Because it didn’t _matter_. He might not think Brendon wanted to leave, might doubt Brendon would abandon him without even saying _goodbye_ , but none of that mattered. Brendon was _free_. If he took his papers and he really wanted to just... disappear, no one could stop him.

“Fuck,” Bob breathed. Then, suddenly, he was leaning forward and wrapping his arms around Spencer’s waist. Spencer made a small noise in the back of his throat and brought his arms up instinctively. “Don’t think that. Brendon was fucking _desolate_ without you. When Tom brought him here, once Brendon figured out we weren’t going to punish him for talking, he didn’t shut up about you. He talked about the other two, sometimes, but most of it was you. Always things like _Spencer always said_ and _Spencer would do this instead of that_ or _Spencer is the greatest at doing that thing you’re trying to do_. Then when he _saw_ you...”

Spencer squeezed his eyes shut. He shouldn’t ask, but no one would talk about what happened the night after Brendon had seen Spencer in that cage. There had been _at least_ twelve hours between the time Brendon saw him and when Beckett and Travis had come to collect him. Something had happened; Brendon had done _something_ to get Beckett to come out, but no one ever actually told Spencer what that was. They would hedge around it, get sad looks and tell him to ask Brendon; Brendon blushed and changed the subject.

Spencer opened his eyes and asked anyway. “What? What happened after he found me?”

“He lost it. He’d just been to see Sarah - she was sick - and Siska lost sight of him for a few minutes. “ Bob rolled his eyes. Spencer decided Brendon was never again allowed to hang out with Siska alone. “When he found him, Brendon was more pale than Gerard. He wouldn’t say a word until they got back. When he did... as soon as they were through the fucking door, Brendon was _on his knees_. Bill didn’t know what the fuck was going on, but Brendon was babbling. He kept asking if Bill would do just this one thing for him. He promised _anything_. He offered to give Bill all his tutoring money, to let Bill sell him in exchange. He said...he was going to let them have him; aristocrats like their bed slaves, right, even if Bill had Travie. Brendon promised he’d learn quick, be exactly what they wanted.” Bob sounded as choked as Spencer felt.

“He wouldn’t...” But Spencer knew he would. He’d always known Brendon must have offered up everything he had or could pull together. Somehow, he’d never let himself think of this exact offer, though. “Bill, did he...”

“Bill cried,” Bob told him, solemn. “Travie took him away before Brendon noticed and I practically carried Brendon upstairs. We thought he was adjusting pretty well before that, but... Anyway.” Bob cleared his throat, eyelashes fluttering against Spencer’s hair as he blinked a few times. “Brendon really just needed someone to hold him still for awhile.” Sometimes Brendon needed to cling; Spencer knew this. “As soon as he told me about you and that damned _cage_ , I got Ray to tell Bill and the next day you were here.”

“Oh. Um...”

“Spencer, he was terrified the first month you were here. He fucking freaked out when you were out of his sight for too long, worried you’d run without him and try to find Ryan. He was writing letters to Tom every three days to see if he knew anything new.”

Anger rushed through Spencer, hot and sudden. “How could he be so stupid? I’d never... It’s Ryan, yeah, but... _Brendon_. Fucking idiot.”

Bob nodded. He was almost smiling when he pulled back to look Spencer in the eye. “He’s not going anywhere without you, okay? Tonight, whatever the fuck’s going on, he didn’t try to leave you behind.”

It should have been a relief, but it really wasn’t. Spencer was at a loss, too wrapped up in missing Brendon so much it _hurt_ and wanting to hit him for having so little faith in Spencer. He also kind of wanted to punch himself for not noticing Brendon had been so worried.

He opened his mouth to say something, not knowing what that was yet, when he saw two tiny pinpricks of light over Bob’s shoulder. He held his breath, blinking to make sure. The light got closer until Spencer could make out the outline of a carriage.

“Brendon!”

Spencer would feel bad, later, about the way he shoved Bob back and practically climbed over the chair arm in his haste to get to the door. He also may or may not have kicked Bob in the shoulder, but he didn’t have the time to stop and check. Spencer tripped all over himself trying to get downstairs, be the first thing Brendon saw.

As soon as he rounded the corner into the kitchen from the foyer, Brendon looked up with a small smile. He seemed shy in a way Spencer didn’t get to see often, but Spencer couldn’t even focus on that. Before Brendon could get anything other than an inarticulate sound out, Spencer was across the room and practically pulling him off his stool.

Something a little scalding hit his shoulder, probably tea since Bill was at the stove instead of Gerard. The burn was secondary, easy to ignore in contrast to the blinding fucking relief that spread through Spencer.

“Where were you? What happened? Are you okay?”

“Spence,” Brendon whispered. His arm wrapped around Spencer’s waist, free hand tangling in his hair. “Hey, hey, I’m fine. I just. I was looking for the cave. There was this dog. One of Mark’s, from the last litter?”

What? Wait… “What?”

“I think a raccoon got ahold of her. Those fuckers are vicious and Mark said they’d had issues with them attacking his chickens lately.” Brendon was rambling, talking fast, trying to get everything out quickly. He was always doing that, trying to make up for lost time; Spencer usually appreciated it more. “I don’t know how long she was out there, but she wasn’t doing well. I couldn’t just…she was _right_ there and she looked so sad.”

“You. Brendon, you stayed with a god damned _dog_?” Fucking hell.

Brendon huffed. “No. I took her as far as I could, but those dogs of his are fucking huge, man. So I had to drop her off and go get Mark on foot. I stayed to help him with her. She was apparently going to be for breeding, so. We tried to save her but…”

“Fucking hell, Urie,” Bob muttered from somewhere behind Spencer. Spencer hadn’t even heard him come downstairs.

Pulling back, Spencer reached up to frame Brendon’s face with his hands, make Brendon look at him. “If you _ever_ fucking do that again... You can’t just. _Don’t_ , okay?”

Fighting the desperation was getting difficult. Everyone was going to hear how fucking…how bad Brendon being gone for less than a day was dragging him down. They probably already knew.

“Spence. Spencer Smith.” Brendon must have set his cup aside at some point, because both hands were gripping Spencer’s shoulders, wrinkling the fabric of the teal work shirt that may have once been Bob’s. Slowly, Brendon leaned in until their foreheads were touching. “Spence. I’m sorry I scared you. I just didn’t think… I should have had someone come by. I’m sorry, okay? I won’t, not anymore.”

“Yeah,” Spencer whispered. Even the single word shook so much that Spencer could hardly stand himself.

Frank cleared his throat, loud and obnoxious. “Tell us about your adventure through the woods, Bden,” he prodded. He shoved a stool up beside Brendon’s and waited for Spencer to let go enough to take his seat.

Mikey set a cup of tea in front of Spencer and took Brendon’s to be refilled while Brendon talked about getting lost on his way to Hoppus’ place. It was probably a pretty funny story, but Spencer was more preoccupied with Brendon’s voice to bother with the words. He ignored his tea in order to hold Brendon’s hand between both of his.

Spencer watched Bob step up behind them and lean his forehead against Brendon’s crown. Brendon reached up to pet at Bob’s hair and Spencer had to look away.

He normally didn’t begrudge Bob and Brendon’s... Bob and Brendon-ness, but Spencer wanted to be selfish and keep Brendon to himself for a while. He didn’t want to sit here and listen to a story that could wait until morning, or watch Brendon hold onto someone that wasn’t him.

Mikey’s not-smirk said Spencer wasn’t hiding the pouting well. Mikey could go fuck himself; he pouted every single time Pete brought Patrick over.

**********

Brendon must have been picking up on Spencer’s nervous energy. He cut his late dinner short to usher Spencer upstairs. Bob walked them all the way to the door, and Spencer couldn’t help glaring at him, narrowing his eyes until Bob rolled his.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Bob muttered, pulling Brendon into a hug. It was awkward since Spencer absolutely refused to release Brendon’s hand. Bob pulled away and let out a slow breath. He shoved a hand through his hair and shook his head. “Goodnight.”

Brendon watched until Bob rounded the corner of the stairs before turning to Spencer. Spencer hadn’t even pulled him all the way into the room before he was tugging Brendon up for a kiss. Brendon teetered a little, stretching up on his toes too far to get at Spencer’s mouth.

“Spence,” Brendon breathed, pulling away so he could kick the door shut.

Spencer was on him again almost immediately. Gripping his hips, Spencer pushed Brendon back against the door. Brendon laughed a little, surprised. He threaded his fingers together behind Spencer’s neck, pulling him down and biting at his lips. Spencer whined into the kiss, stepping closer to press their bodies flush together. Brendon gasped, the sound going straight through Spencer’s body.

He knew he was desperate, but fuck. He couldn’t _help_ it. He’d lost Brendon once; thinking he’d lost Brendon _again_ made him a little crazy. Brendon was right there with him, arching to thrust their hips together.

The heat was already building, making Spencer practically itch with the need to get closer, feel skin. Brendon rocked his hips up in this perfectly lewd grind that had Spencer panting. Spencer was half hard, but it was secondary, because, _Brendon_. Spencer leaned back enough to slip his hands under Brendon’s shirt. He slid his hands up, pulling the shirt with him until Brendon let go of Spencer’s neck to raise his arms.

Spencer threw the shirt somewhere over his shoulder and set his lips to Brendon’s skin. He kissed down Brendon’s shoulder, dragging his tongue in a restless pattern that ended at Brendon’s nipples. Spencer sealed his lips, flicking his tongue out quickly. Brendon’s hips jerked and he whined low in his throat as he dropped his head back against the door.

There was a low thud, but Spencer didn’t think anyone would hear; he didn’t care if they did.

Brendon threaded his fingers through Spencer’s hair, not pulling but just holding on. Spencer glanced up, watching the blush that rose up Brendon’s chest. It made him bolder; Spencer slid a hand down Brendon’s body, cupping his growing erection and kneading lightly. Brendon moaned, the sound muffled by the way he was biting his lip, and squirmed.

Spencer didn’t have the slightest idea what he was doing, except in theory, as he dropped to his knees.

“Fuck, _Spence_. You don’t - “ Brendon cut himself off with a gasp when Spencer kissed his stomach and pressed his thumbs into the soft skin above Brendon’s hips. “-have to,” Brendon panted.

Spencer shook his head, beard dragging along Brendon’s skin. Brendon half-laughed, half-whined, and Spencer groaned at how it tickled his face. He traced his fingers along Brendon’s waistband, trying to ignore the slight shaking as he worked on the button-fly of Brendon’s trousers. He fumbled a little; seriously, buttons _sucked_.

When he slid Brendon’s pants and underwear down, Brendon groaned and rocked his hips a little in search of contact. It was more than a little intimidating but, fuck, Spencer couldn’t remember ever wanting something so much. He pressed a kiss just above the coarse hair, circling his hand around Brendon’s cock, testing the feel of touching someone else.

He pulled back and took a deep breath, darting his tongue out to taste the precome already beading at the head. Brendon hissed and reached down to grip Spencer’s shoulder, his hold a little tight and just enough to distract Spencer for the way he was starting to panic, just a little.

Spencer stared up the line of Brendon’s body. He was amazed at how long Brendon looked. Gone was the scrawny body Spencer remembered from before, when they hadn't had enough to eat and Spencer could count Brendon's ribs when they hugged. No, now Brendon was filling out; there was more definition to every part of him, the hard and soft parts of him in perfect juxtaposition. Spencer could die just staring at him.

He accidentally met Brendon’s eyes. They seemed darker than usual, desire clear in his expression. Spencer took a deep breath, moving his hand in a slow stroke, reveling in the way Brendon shifted into the touch.

“You have to tell me if I do anything wrong... I don’t actually know what I’m doing down here.”

Brendon laughed, but it wasn’t at him. He moved his hand from Spencer’s shoulder to stroke his cheek. “Short of biting, I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be too picky.” He sounded breathless in the best possible way.

That was all the encouragement Spencer needed to lean in and lick from base to tip. Brendon shuddered and twitched when Spencer sealed his lips over the head, sucking experimentally. Spencer kept one hand wrapped around Brendon, the other gripping his hip to hold him still.

It was slow going for a minute as Spencer inched slowly down Brendon’s length, taking as much as he could and fighting his gag reflex the whole way. It couldn’t be very good, but Spencer flattened his tongue along the underside and sucked.

Brendon writhed, muttering words too softly for Spencer to understand.

Spencer moved slowly, working his way up to a rhythm of twisting his hand and sucking every time he took Brendon’s cock further into his mouth, tonguing under the head when he pulled back. His jaw was starting to ache, and he was drooling all over the place; he expected to have to give up when he let go of Brendon’s hip to slide his hand lower, cup Brendon’s balls just as he sucked particularly hard.

Brendon thrust his hips hard enough to choke Spencer if his hand hadn’t been in the way. “Spence. _Spence_ , you’ve got to... I’m going to...” He pushed at Spencer’s shoulder, shoving him back just far enough that when Brendon came it was in warm lines up his neck and chin.

If he thought about it, that was probably weird. And _really_ fucking hot.

Spencer was panting, staring up at the almost dazed look on Brendon’s face, hand still lightly stroking along Brendon’s cock until Brendon started to shy away and make these tiny whining sounds in his throat. The sound sparked a shock down Spencer’s body, reminding him just how hard he was, how he was almost shaking with it.

He palmed himself through his pants, pressing shamelessly into his own hand. He fought with the fucking buttons, barely getting his hand in before Brendon was on his knees in front of him.

“Wait, hold on,” Brendon whispered, voice rough. “Just... here.”

He reached out, shoving Spencer’s clothes down to his thighs. Brendon licked his palm and grabbed Spencer with this completely unforgiving and absolutely _perfect_ pressure. Spencer whined, but Brendon slammed their mouths together, taking the sound. The kiss was sloppy, unfocused; Brendon was more focused on stroking Spencer’s cock, fast and glorious, and Spencer was just along for the ride.

The sounds spilling from his lips were completely embarrassing, but he didn’t care. He rocked in time with Brendon’s hand, pulling his mouth away to gasp. Brendon didn’t let him go far, leaning in to lick and suck over Spencer’s chin and down his neck. It took Spencer longer than he was proud of to realize Brendon was _licking_ his _own_ come off Spencer’s _skin_. The thought shot through him, heat building and cresting so fast he didn’t even expect it.

Spencer moaned, loud and rough sounding. He buried his face against Brendon’s neck, thrusting against Brendon one more time before losing it and spilling over Brendon’s hand.

They were both panting, gasping for air, leaning on each other. Spencer didn’t know how long they stayed like that: Brendon slumped back against the door with Spencer mostly on top of him. When he regained the ability to move his limbs, Spencer sat back on his heels, clothes all askew and limiting his movement.

Brendon blinked, looking completely blissed out. “God. Tell me we can do that again?”

Spencer blinked back then cracked, laughing, feeling so fucking content. It was like the whole stressful-as-hell day never happened. He didn’t even mind when Brendon not-so-surreptitiously wiped his hand on Spencer’s shirt.

“Abso-fucking-lutely.” Spencer giggled a little, honestly _giggled_ as he tried to stand.

It was Brendon’s turn to laugh. He used the doorknob to pull himself up, then reached down to help Spencer.

“Bed. We are getting on your bed,” Brendon ordered, throwing in waggled eyebrows as punctuation. “And I am going to rock your fucking world.”

Spencer didn’t bother to tell him he already had.

**********

The next morning got off to a rough start. For the first time in a long time, Spencer woke up alone with no idea of where Brendon had disappeared to. He wasn’t hogging the blankets and sprawling over Spencer’s chest, or lying face down on his bed and wallowing in the way the sunlight felt coming through the window.

Spencer nearly panicked, but he forced himself to concentrate, to breathe and actually think before he reacted. There was a time he could do that so easily, but Brendon made him lose touch with things like rationality.

He finally forced himself out of bed and into whatever clothes were closest. His hands felt clumsy and he fumbled with the button fly of his work pants a few times before forcing the buttons into submission. He wiped his sweaty palms against his trousers and worked out a plan.

All he had to do was slow down and check Brendon’s favorite spots: the music room, the dining room, the lounge. If those all turned up empty, Spencer would let himself have a fit, or find Bob and let Bob talk him out of having a fit. It was perfect.

Except the music room turned up empty and no one was hanging out in the dining room, not even Gerard and his piles of haphazard party planning. He had to concentrate on keeping his mind on track as he tried the lounge.

When he glanced inside, he didn’t see Brendon’s ridiculous hair or hear his laugh. Spencer gripped the doorknob a little harder and blinked to clear out his vision. There were other places he could go. Brendon had grown fond of the attic, and Bob was helping him work on reorganizing the library for reasons no one actually understood. The estate was huge and there were a dozen people running around, someone would know something. Brendon wouldn’t run off, not without telling Spencer first. Not again.

“He’s visiting Lila.”

Spencer most certainly did _not_ yelp when he turned around. “Fucking shit, Mikey. Wear a bell. Jesus.”

Mikey shrugged and half-smiled from where he was leaning against the wall opposite the lounge entrance. “Sorry. You looked like you were having a crisis. Brendon usually helps with that. Figured you’d rather find him than listen to me.”

“You’re a smart man,” Spencer nodded. He was already heading back the way he’d come. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Spencer didn’t doubt Mikey’s information. Somehow, Mikey Way knew everything about everyone on the estate; he was either magic or a ridiculously accurate gossip, possibly both. Instead of asking pointless questions, Spencer just took Mikey’s word on good faith and headed out toward the stables and Siska’s very pregnant guard dog.

Lila would have to be having puppies any day; it made sense that Brendon was there. Not only was he overexcited about the pups, but he loved Lila to bits. Spencer always wondered how Brendon could stand dogs anymore, not that he was ever going to ask. If Brendon could hold onto that, Spencer wasn’t going to judge him.

The doors to the stable were already open. Siska and Frank always had the horses out and in training or working by mid-morning, and it was already getting on noon. Spencer started scanning over the stall doors, not sure where Lila was nesting this week. He was halfway through and still hadn’t seen a thing when he heard voices.

Spencer slowed his steps and strained his ears. There were definitely two voices, and Spence had spent more than enough time listening to Brendon’s “quiet voice” to recognize it. He also knew Bob got even more grumbly when he was speaking softly. It’s not like it was a surprise when Spencer got to the last two stalls and saw the back of Brendon’s head.

Brendon and Bob were both standing in the stall, leaning against the far wall. Brendon had his forehead against the wood and Bob was standing behind him, hands kneading at Brendon’s shoulders. Bob said something Spencer didn’t catch, and Brendon laughed.

There was no reason for Spencer to stop moving, to lean against the post he knew didn’t squeak and just watch. Still, he did it. There seemed to be something going on in that stall, and he knew he’d be interrupting.

“I’m sorry,” Brendon said a little louder. He turned, facing Bob, and Spencer pressed closer to the wall. “I didn’t realize everyone was going to...” His volume dropped again.

Bob was shaking his head. “... _worried_ , Bren. So fucking...”

Spencer had to fight to hear Bob, but he figured out where it was going pretty quickly.

“Shouldn’t have...” Brendon started.

Brendon leaned back, head making a soft _thump_ sound when it hit the wall. Bob pressed closer, boxing Brendon in with a hand against the wall on either side of his shoulders.

“Scared half to fucking death,” Bob said, suddenly fierce. “Spencer was...”

Spencer never figured out what he was. A second later, Brendon pushed against Bob’s chest. He shook his head and started to turn, but Bob was faster. He cupped Brendon’s cheek with one hand and turned him right into a kiss. Spencer imagined he heard the soft gasp Brendon always made when he was pleasantly surprised, definitely heard the little whimper when Bob closed the last little bit of distance and pressed close to Brendon’s body. Brendon was completely obscured at that point, but Spencer saw the hand he had wrapped in Bob’s hair and the other one holding onto the neck of Bob’s shirt.

He didn’t know how long he stared, but there were hooves crunching the straw outside the stable, and Spencer snapped out of the trance he had going. He forced his fists to unclench and didn’t run. He didn’t run, but he did walk quickly, quietly back into the sunshine.

It might as well have been snowing for all the warmth Spencer could actually feel.

There were people everywhere on this fucking estate. He hadn’t seen anyone when he needed them, and now that he didn’t want to talk to people, they all kept calling to him or waving.

Spencer nodded back, but couldn’t seem to make his throat work as he crossed the front lawn. He didn’t stop, not for anything, until he was safely inside the fieldhouse: the stupid fucking fieldhouse he was trying so damn hard to fix so Brendon would be happy, so they could have something all their own.

Brendon didn’t _need_ Spencer and his stupid _house_. Brendon could move in with _Bob_. Ray and Mikey could have this one. Spencer didn’t really need this much space, these few rooms, if he was going to be on his own.

Spencer slammed the door as hard as he could with the frame still warped. He stomped over to the pile of materials he had so carefully sorted the day before. He stared down, looking at the page of notes sticking out from under a box of hinges. It was the most annoying thing he’d seen all day. The most annoying, not the most painful.

But it didn’t matter. Brendon hadn’t ever really been Spencer’s, right?

“Stupid,” Spencer whispered. “So fucking stupid. What, you think you’re something, Smith? Brendon’s your _friend_. Stop making shit up. God. Your head is such a fucked up place.” He kept up a soft litany against himself for a while, until his throat was dry with it.

Spencer kept talking and started gathering the things he needed for the door. He probably wasn’t going to need it now, but whatever. Maybe he could give it to Brendon and Bob. Mikey had been angling to move out of Frank and Gerard’s house anyway; he’d appreciate the open space turning up in Ray’s.

Nothing about this situation pointed to anything _good_ for Spencer, but he couldn’t begrudge anyone, especially Brendon, for it. He’d just...wait it out, see what happened. Spencer was such a fucking _nice_ person. He hated himself for it.

*********

  
**[Part Five]**   


Surprisingly, feeling like one of the horses had kicked him in the chest actually increased Spencer’s productivity and organization skills. He also tapped into some of the defense mechanisms he’d honed over years and years of servitude.

Avoidance was number one on the list, and it was surprisingly easy once he worked out his schedule.

When the sun broke through the oppressive darkness of night, lightening the curtains from the outside, Spencer woke. He’d been up late the night before, forcing Gerard and Frank to make task lists for Brendon’s party, but he was still awake when the first birds started calling.

Brendon wasn’t too far behind him, but Spencer kept his eyes carefully closed and breathed as deep and evenly as he knew how. This was the hard part since Brendon tended to wallow in bed for a good ten minutes in the morning. He spent some time cuddling up to Spencer’s back, hiding from the morning. That turned into halfhearted grumbles and stretching. By the time Brendon actually rolled out of bed, Spencer was trying not to smile at how completely adorable the whole process was.

Brendon tried to be quiet, which was a losing battle, but Spencer didn’t acknowledge it. He rolled a little, waving a hand vaguely in Brendon’s direction.

“Sorry,” Brendon laughed. He crossed the room and leaned over to kiss the tip of Spencer’s nose. Spencer fought the urge to sneeze, even though he’d expected it, and Brendon laughed again. “Go back to sleep. I’ll see you for lunch? Maybe?”

Spencer had taken to regularly skipping lunches and knew it worried Brendon, even though Spencer had gone much longer without meals before. Not being able to stand how unsure Brendon sounded, he grumbled and nodded into the pillow. “Mm Hmm. Come get me, ‘kay?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Brendon’s grin was in his voice, and it made the hollow spot in Spencer’s chest throb. “I’m going to be late for Cassadee.” His hand went through Spencer’s hair, catching on a few tangles, before he was gone.

Spencer listened to the door _click_ shut. He strained to hear footsteps on the carpet, but settled for the fading humming of Brendon in a good mood. When there was nothing left to hear – other than the occasional raised voice of someone starting their day – Spencer crawled out of bed.

He washed his face, combed his hair, did a little minor beard grooming. Then he got dressed in something that started out immaculate but would probably be dusty before dinner. He killed time straightening things: sorting out Brendon’s clothes from the night before, making the bed, general tidying that wasn’t necessary, cleaning around the their tiny fireplace.

By the time it was safe to head downstairs, breakfast was mostly finished. Spencer grabbed some toast and cold fried ham from the place that had been set for him. Everything else had been cleared from the table, so Spencer took his plate with him to the kitchen.

Ray was sorting out the dishes while Carden put the leftover food away. For a second, Ray studied him with this infuriatingly _knowing_ look, but Ray wasn’t the type to press unless it was one of his boys, so Spencer ignored it and made some tea.

“Bob was looking for you,” Ray pointed out, not looking away from the washing basin. “Said to send you out to the stable if you weren’t busy.”

Spencer busied himself with chewing excessively and washing the bites down with tiny sips of scalding tea. He wasn’t going anywhere near that fucking stable or Bob, if he could help it. “I’m helping the Butcher rearrange Bill’s office and the back sitting room.”

“Why are you rearranging a room no one uses?” Carden asked, halfway out the door.

Spencer shrugged but appreciated that Carden latched onto weird shit. “The mess with Bill’s head?”

Ray shook his head, hair bouncing in a hilarious way, and Carden snorted. “That’ll be fun. Move that vase of his Great Aunt Maysel. He’ll lose his head. It’ll be awesome.”

Spencer raised his eyebrows; that much was a given. Carden winked, which was a little creepy, and headed out to do… whatever it was he did. Spencer hadn’t actually worked that out, yet. Ray was quiet while Spencer finished eating, but it was a loaded silence. Spencer rushed to get out of there.

He started to nudge Ray out of the way to wash his own dishes, but Ray waved him off.

“Go see what Bob wants or something. Or Brendon might be finished. I think Cassadee was doing half a lesson today.”

She was, Spencer knew, but he didn’t want to be faced with Brendon’s excitement or Bob’s easy banter right now. Spencer shrugged and made a noncommittal sound. He wiped down the counter just to watch the way Ray tried to look irritated but obviously appreciated the help.

Then Spencer went to find Butcher. Butcher was already straightening the sitting room. Spencer took over dusting all the heirlooms. They snatched up the aforementioned vase, a malfunctioning desk clock, and some aged tintypes.

“So Sisky moved the fucking foot locker from the main bedroom into ours, and we had the thing for three months before Bill started looking for his good suspenders or some shit. Didn’t even notice he’d been wearing Travie’s shoes the whole time,” Butcher explained with a laugh.

For some reason, it had become a game after that.

Spencer was mostly distracted, though, only half-listening, since Butcher usually didn’t actually need Spencer to give him any sort of input when he was telling stories. He cleared his throat after an awkwardly long pause - those usually meant he was supposed to respond.

“Three dinner clean-ups it takes him four to find the vase.” Spencer forced a grin and handed it over. “Keep your paintbrushes in it and he’ll think you’ve been using it the whole time.”

“I’ll keep it in the fucking _lounge_ ,” Butcher chuckled.

“He’ll see it every day.” Spencer actually felt a real smirk covering the faked expression. “Clock’s going in his office.”

“By the umbrella stand?”

“Where else?”

Butcher clapped Spencer on the shoulder. “You’re an evil genius, Smith. Give the tintypes to Gerard. He’ll decorate with them. It’ll be three weeks before Bill catches on.”

Spencer shook his head and didn’t doubt it. Butcher headed for the office, and Spencer followed just to help with dusting the random unnecessary decorations and to drop off the clock.

As soon as Butcher headed for the library, Spencer took his leave. He stopped by for lunch, quickly, just long enough to ruffle Brendon’s hair.

“We have pie!” Brendon promised, wide-eyed and imploring. “It’s your favorite. Made with the last of the apples.”

Spencer wasn’t hungry, didn’t want something so sweet, but no one was paying them any attention and Bob either wasn’t coming in for lunch or had already left. Spencer shrugged.

“I’m kind of busy…” Spencer hedged until Brendon gave him _the_ look, complete with pouty bottom lip. Biting his own lip to tone down the grin, Spencer dropped into the open seat between Brendon and Mikey. “Okay, one piece. But only if Frank didn’t make it.”

“I made it myself,” Brendon promised. He pushed a plate toward Spencer, and Spencer tried not to notice how closely Brendon was watching him as Spencer took his first bite.

The crust was crumbly and the apples were a little dry, but Spencer managed to look impressed anyway. “You’re sort of amazing, Brendon Urie.” The pie wasn’t, but Brendon was; Spencer didn’t even have to force the awe into his voice.

Brendon knocked their shoulders together and pressed a sticky kiss to Spencer’s cheek. “Anything to keep you happy.”

Spencer didn’t wonder what Brendon was doing to keep _Bob_ happy. His stomach swam a little sickly, but he ate the pie just to keep the smile on Brendon’s face.

When Bill started asking Brendon about a menu for his party, Spencer managed to sneak out. Brendon didn’t look too thrilled about it, but Spencer tried to pretend he didn’t catch that look as he slipped around the door.

He didn’t think about Brendon just wanting to be close to him while he set a brisk pace across the front lawn. As soon as he got to the fieldhouse, Spencer jumped into his mending and didn’t picture Brendon’s questioning expressions. He tried his best to focus on what he was doing, but he was running out of tasks.

Things were shaping up quickly, and there just wasn’t much left for Spencer to do. Somehow, he managed to spend all afternoon hiding, though. A good portion of it was just re-measuring things, but whatever. No one needed to know that.

No one came to collect him for dinner, which Spencer was grateful for. Sometime after the third day when Spencer refused to follow Brendon or let Bob lead him back to the main house, they stopped coming down. Maybe pulling himself away wasn’t going to be such a problem, after all.

Spencer took a deep breath and forced his mind to blank. He crossed the blackness of the front lawn carefully, using only the crescent moon and lights from the main house as a guide.

When he slipped into the dining room, the only people left were Gerard and Frank. They had, once again, taken over a whole half of the table to spread out supplies. Tonight it looked like more invitations: folded sheets, addresses, wax for seals, endless ink wells. Spencer grabbed the plate someone – undoubtedly Brendon – had left for him and started reaching for their supplies.

“How many are left?” Spencer asked, mouth full.

Gerard rubbed black stained fingers over the bridge of his nose. “All of them?” He gave Spencer a wide, faux-innocent grin.

Spencer coughed. “How long have you been working on these?”

“Just a couple days,” Frank nodded. “But Ray says you can’t read them when I do it, and if Gerard keeps drawing shit everyone’s going to think it’s a masquerade.”

“Is it too late for-“ Gerard started right when Spencer said, “Too late!”

Gerard grumbled and stole half a roll off Spencer’s plate. “You’re no fun, Smith.”

“Not at all,” Spencer agreed. He snatched the pen from Gerard’s hand. “Give them here. I’ll do addresses if you sort them by district.”

Frank snorted. “He’s like mini-Ray. All organized and shit.”

“Someone has to keep you guys in line,” Spencer told them off-handedly and started splitting his attention. He could just take bites between address lines.

So engrossed in trying to remember names, trying to figure out if he had met this family yet, Spencer almost missed Frank’s muttered “slave driver.”

“Learned from the best,” Spencer threw in without missing a beat.

This was part of what he liked about spending so much time with Frank and Gerard lately. They didn’t try to pretend Spencer wasn’t a slave. Having been there themselves, even though Spencer hadn’t ever heard their whole stories, meant they could just say things. They could make light of what had happened to them, and that? That meant Spencer could do it, or at least try to. It was a work in progress.

Frank and Gerard didn’t act surprised by Spencer’s quip, just laughed and lapsed into conversation about strange surnames and the group of invitations they had to set aside because Bill wanted to send them personally. Spencer tried not to think about why he might be doing something like that.

Instead, Spencer ate and wrote until his stomach hurt and his hand was practically numb. His writing was getting progressively sloppier when Brendon stumbled in.

“What ‘re you doin’?” Brendon mumbled. He was blinking slowly, hair askew on one side as if he’d been lying on it for a while.

Spencer bit his lip and turned back to the envelope he was working on. “Making your Freedom Party happen. They’re useless.”

“Fucker,” Frank muttered without any heat. He sounded as tired as Brendon looked.

“Well, stop,” Brendon whined. Shuffling over, he leaned heavily against Spencer’s shoulders and buried his face in Spencer’s hair. “Come to bed. It’s cold.”

“Just a second,” Spencer promised. He reached up to pet Brendon’s hair, scratching his scalp before pulling his hand away to finish this one.

Finishing the last ‘y’ with a flourish, Spencer shoved an invitation inside and slid it to Gerard and his wax seals. He rolled his shoulders and looked up. Brendon whined at being displaced and stood up to rub his eyes.

“Bed now? Please?” Brendon sounded so pitiful that Spencer couldn’t put it off any longer.

Chuckling softly, Spencer let Brendon pull him to his feet. As soon as they were standing, Brendon wedged himself under Spencer’s arm, cuddling close even as they walked.

“Night,” Spencer muttered, distracted.

“ _Good_ night,” Gerard returned.

“ _Sleep_ well,” Frank added.

Spencer didn’t have the heart to move Brendon away enough to hit them. Instead, he focused on getting them through doorways and up the stairs without pushing Brendon away. Brendon seemed reluctant to let go, always tended to cling when he was tired, and Spencer reveled in that level of need directed at him.

When they got to their room, Spencer settled Brendon onto Spencer’s bed, the one they had taken to sharing. He went about getting ready, throwing clothes over the chair arm. He’d normally straighten up before bed, but that would keep him up longer and give him less to do in the morning.

Plus, Brendon was pouting and making tiny whining noises every time Spencer started a new task.

Spencer couldn’t help laughing as he fell into bed, kicking under the blankets while Brendon tried to climb on top of him.

“You stay up too late,” Brendon complained.

“Sorry,” Spencer murmured through a yawn.

Brendon hummed and nuzzled against Spencer’s throat. Wrapping his arms tight around Brendon’s back, Spencer turned enough to catch Brendon’s lips in a soft kiss. So long as Spencer didn’t think about who else was allowed to kiss Brendon like this, Spencer could just enjoy the comfort and the heat that always started spreading out from every point of contact. It was calming, mostly, and Spencer could almost always fall asleep like that, trading kisses until they couldn’t do more than share breath.

Most days went generally the same, but Spencer had learned to thrive on monotony. He was busy, and it was amazing. There were never any empty moments that needed to be filled with Bob’s dry humor or Brendon’s stories. So what if Spencer still wanted both?

And so what if he got a little desperate at night, sometimes, when he was wrapped up and alone with Brendon. Maybe he held on a little too tight and kissed a little too hard, but Brendon didn’t seem to mind. He just met all of Spencer’s urgency and begged until Spencer touched him. Spencer could have told him he didn’t need to go to all the trouble, but he liked knowing Brendon wanted, _needed_ , him enough to gasp his name out and writhe in the most obscene way possible. Until Brendon told him _no_ or Bob got territorial, Spencer wasn’t giving this up.

There were a few flaws in his plan. Bob was giving Spencer more _looks_ , all wrinkled forehead and questioning eyes. Brendon was worse, if only because his sad baby deer eyes didn’t hold anything back, and Spencer hated being the one to dull Brendon’s shine.

Then there was Travie, who always had to be all fucking _concerned_ and _involved_.

It took a week, but Travis finally managed to pin Spencer down. He did it by following him out to the fieldhouse after breakfast one day.

“You doing okay, Smith?”

Spencer shrugged and pushed the door open. He glanced around. The windows were repaired and cleaned, the roof shouldn’t leak anymore, and the door was fully functional. He was mostly left with a few patches where the floor needed to be reinforced.

“Yeah,” Spencer told him, off-handedly. “It’s almost done. I figure Brendon can move in the week after his party.”

Travie hummed. “You guys going to need help packing your stuff? I’ll make Bill help; he likes organizing shit.”

“I don’t know. Ask Brendon. Neither of us has much, anyway.”

“Yo,” Travie laughed. “Brendon’s not going to give a fuck about logistics. You’re the brains behind this operation.”

“You’re thinking of Bob,” Spencer pointed out. He went to the corner he’d blocked off and started carefully pressing his foot against the boards to find the three he knew needed to be pulled up.

“Why would Bob care how you move? He probably won’t let you actually do anything yourself, but that’s just what he does.” When Spencer turned to look at him, Travie was rolling his eyes.

“He’ll be too busy with his own stuff anyway.” Spencer turned away before Travie could catch the way his face heated with irritation.

Travis coughed. “Woah, man. I didn’t know you guys had actually... Brendon didn’t say anything and I figured he’d be telling _every_ one once that happened.” He sounded pained; Spencer ignored it.

“Whatever. He’s surprisingly full of _secrets_ lately.”

“Wait. I think we’re talking about two different things.” Travis stepped closer, and the floor creaked; Spencer had forgotten about that one. “What kind of secrets are we talking?”

If Brendon couldn’t be bothered to say anything to Spencer, Spencer wasn’t going to be the one to tell Travis.

Setting his expression, Spencer turned to give Travis his best glower. “Ask Brendon.” He cocked his hip out and raised his eyebrows in challenge. “And please go away. I need to tear the floor up and you’re in the way.”

Travis didn’t look like he approved of the suggestion, but he just shook his head and turned around, muttering on his way out. Not that it mattered; he probably just didn’t appreciate taking orders from a slave. Spencer should probably work on remembering his place a little more often.

“Who has that sort of time anymore,” Spencer sighed and got to work. No use worrying about anything until someone called him out; they would eventually.

**********

With the invitations out and only a week left before Brendon’s party, Spencer had to alter his plan to do more work on the fieldhouse. That was all good and well, but he didn’t have any idea what else he needed to do. Once he could convince someone to move the furniture Bill had said they could swipe from the attic, Spencer could tell Brendon and Bob to get on with it.

That had to be what they were waiting for.

Spencer was halfway to the attic when he heard the exclamations. He was pretty sure that was Brendon, yelling something from outside. Much as Spencer didn’t want to be in the way, his heart was still conditioned to race when he couldn’t make out Brendon’s tone.

He squeezed the railing as he turned around, trying to force his feet to carry him back downstairs. Something was happening and he shouldn’t try to get in the way, but Brendon might need something... he might... there might be something happening down there.

Before he could remember what walking was like, Brendon was sliding around the corner.

“You are not going to fucking believe this!” He sounded caught somewhere between excited and completely confused. “We have _party guests_. From up _North_. You are going to _die_ when you see them!”

“What?” A laugh startled out of his chest. “Who is it?”

“Come see!” Brendon was making grabby hands at him, tapping his feet to hurry Spencer along.

Spencer took a deep breath and managed to make it down. He grabbed Brendon’s hand, trying not to be too thrilled at the way Brendon squeezed.

When they reached the entrance hall, Spencer froze. This could not be fucking happening.

Blackinton and Suarez were leaning against the wall by the door, their suits completely matching except for the cravats, slapping backs and accepting hugs from half of Bill’s staff. Victoria looked perfect in her deep purple swirl skirt and the intricately embroidered red corset over her lacy camisole. She looked happy, too, batting at Travis’ hands, laughing as she reached up to tug at his hair. And Gabe fucking Saporta - looking deranged in his blue waistcoat, green shirt and gray pinstripe pants - was all wrapped up in Beckett.

“Settle down, Billvy! One spin!” Saporta pleaded, but he was laughing. “One spin between old friends.”

“You’ll drop me on my head. Put me the fuck down.” Bill practically giggled.

It was an interesting sight, Saporta leaning back to hold Bill about five inches off the floor. Bill and Saporta were roughly the same height, but Bill was little more than a twig.

Spencer stumbled back a step, and Brendon made a quiet sound when his arm was pulled. No one should have heard it, but Victoria was suddenly turning around. When she caught sight of them, her mouth dropped open and her whole face lit up.

“Little Brendon Urie and semi-scary Spencer Smith!” She crossed the room, purposefully, her long legs making the distance seem impossibly short. “How the hell have you boys been? I’ve been absolutely _lost_ without you both.”

Before Spencer could stop it, she had her arms around both of them. Spencer tried not to, but he wrapped an arm around her shoulders while Brendon laughed into her hair. God. He’d _missed_ her.

“Vicky-T,” he whispered, low and awed.

“You doing okay?” She pulled away to look at both of them. “They treating you all right out here? I’ll break every one of Carden’s limbs if he’s been _untoward_.” Victoria usually dragged her words out - it somehow made Saporta, Blackinton, Suarez, and Nate hang off her every word - but she was almost jumbling her phrases, pushing them out too quickly to be her usual wry jokes.

“Harpy!” Carden yelled from somewhere behind her. She ignored him.

Spencer surprised himself by nodding. “Yeah. They’re... It’s good. Here. It’s... nice.”

“That’s what we like to hear!” Saporta called. He was to them in a second, wrapping Brendon up in a tight hug and swinging him around. Brendon was laughing the second his feet left the floor. “See! Urie lets me swing him!”

“Sorry, I just don’t _swing_ that way,” Bill laughed. Travie’s “He damn well better not” just made him cackle.

“How’s being free, Urie?” Saporta asked when he’d set Brendon back down.

Glancing over his shoulder at Spencer, Brendon bit his lip. His cheeks were a little pink when he turned away again. “Fucking amazing.”

“Good,” Saporta nodded. Turning then, he held a hand out to Spencer. “Smith. Still glaring all around, I see.”

“Only at you,” Spencer choked out as he shook Saporta’s hand.

“Always knew I liked you,” Saporta grinned. He clapped his hands together. “All right! We’ve been on the road for a year - “

“A day and a half,” Suarez corrected.

“- show me to a room!”

Travie waved a hand. “Same ones as always. Except Alex and Nate’s. We gave it to Brendon and Spencer.”

“I’ll move in with Ryland,” Suarez told him, already halfway to the stairs. “Nate doesn’t know when he’ll get here.”

Spencer thought he might be imagining the bitterness in Suarez’s voice. Thinking back, he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Nate anywhere without Alex on his heels or vice versa; maybe the slightly dejected tone wasn’t imaginary.

“Where’s Nate?” Spencer asked, turning to Blackinton before he could help it.

Blackinton shrugged and flapped his hands in a way that Gerard would envy. “We ran into some issues with our suppliers across the bay. They’ve gotten into the business of bed slaves. Nate’s trying to catch Tom before he finalizes another deal with them.”

Spencer’s blood ran cold. Brendon took a couple steps back, angling himself half behind Spencer, like he expected someone to grab him. But he was a freeman now: legally, no one could touch him. Spencer wouldn’t let them anyway; Bob probably wouldn’t either.

“My company doesn’t deal with human traffickers,” Beckett said. He wasn’t looking at them, but Spencer knew it was for their benefit. “Nate will be telling Tom so Tom finishes the contract, but he’ll be discontinuing our business relationship. Gabanti, come. Tell me who you’ve found to sell me textiles instead.”

“Wonderful woman. Could probably break me. It’s sexy as hell,” Saporta started, following Beckett back toward the office.

Well. Spencer sighed. “This just got a hell of a lot more interesting.”

Brendon nodded. His smile was brittle around the edges when he looked at Spencer. Neither of them said anything for a long time.

**********

With Saporta and his merry band of misfits taking over the estate, Spencer had a harder time keeping track of things. It was easy to pay too much attention to Saporta yelling nonsense at Bill, or take Blackinton and Alex up on their offers of card games at all hours of the night. No one was doing anything that wasn’t absolutely mandatory or party related. Spencer wanted to be like that, just carefree and relaxed, but he couldn’t shake the way he completely stilled every time Saporta got a little loud, or someone started talking about _before_.

No one seemed to want to talk about when Saporta had owned them, save for Gerard.

Spencer was sitting in the floor of the lounge, leaned back against Brendon’s knees. Brendon was busy showing Victoria a song he’d been writing on his autoharp, when Gerard finally stopped dancing around it. He’d clearly been gearing up to _something_ over the past few days, but Mikey or Frank had been able to distract him. This time, Mikey was out with Pete for the day, and Frank was harassing Ray in the kitchen.

“Why didn’t _you_ free them?” Gerard asked, apropos of nothing. “Spencer said he was with you for two years, and Brendon was there before him. Isn’t Suarez your attorney? Couldn’t _he_ have made it happen?”

No one said anything, all eyes turning to where Saporta was perched on the bar.

“It’s a good question,” Bob added. He was leaning against the fireplace, staring at the flames. When he looked up, Spencer almost closed his eyes at how dark Bob’s expression was.

Saporta cleared his throat. “I wanted to,” he said slowly. “But I had too many at one time. You send in emancipation papers for fifteen slaves and people talk.”

“So it was your reputation, then.” Gerard practically snarled. Expressions like that should never be on Gerard’s face; it was sort of frightening. Spencer absolutely appreciated it.

“No,” Saporta snapped. He slid off the bar and shook his head. “Look, I don’t have to explain shit to you, Way.”

“Explain it to them.”

Saporta turned to look at Bob, and Bob nodded toward the sofa. Brendon’s fingers were frozen on the autoharp strings. and Spencer was gripping his own trousers so hard he thought he was ripping the fabric. Saporta took a breath and walked around to stand in front of Spencer.

“That’s fair,” he admitted. “Look, I thought it was safer for you all if I kept your papers. I gave you a good place to stay, right? Best I could. I let you do whatever you wanted.” His voice was quieter than Spencer had ever remembered hearing it before. “I honestly thought it was better for you if I took care of everything.”

“It’s not the same as having a choice,” Gerard whispered.

Saporta nodded. “I know. I should... I should have asked you guys what you wanted. All of you.”

Victoria whispered something and Brendon spoke up. “What about later? When the tax collectors came.”

“That wasn’t his fault,” Blackinton cut in. “This one bank manager had some issues with Gabe cleaning him out in poker every week. He called in some favors and changed some records. It took us too long to clear it up.”

“He’s currently serving five years at the debtor’s prison back east. Or is that the one for violent offenders?” Alex added. He had a wry smile on his face, contradicting his next comment. “I can’t ever remember.”

It didn’t sound like the whole story, but Spencer had more important things to worry about than the details.

“Why didn’t you get us back?” Spencer heard himself say. It’s like his mouth had disconnected from his brain and was pushing out strings of words that were pulling him apart at the seams. Brendon’s hand squeezed his shoulder. “Ryland came for Victoria. Jon, he was on contract to work off his debts with you, but you left him there. You left us all there. If you cared so fucking much...”

“Spencer, I’m sorry.” Saporta sounded wretched. His forehead was creased and his mouth turned down further than Spencer had ever seen it. “All my accounts were frozen for weeks. We had Vicky-T’s papers, but I have no idea where the hell Jon’s were. And that fucker with the sales house had already laid down money on all of you. Alex tried to pull some legal voodoo and make him hold off on moving, but without government clearance, we couldn’t do anything. We tried to track you down, but we were too late.”

“What are you doing now? Brendon, he’s free. I’m here.” Each word was more clipped than the last. It sounded more like a string of single words than full sentences. He almost stopped there, but Brendon’s nails were digging harder into his shoulder; they both _needed_ answers. “They could be anywhere with _anything_ happening to them. What are _you_ doing about _that_?”

Saporta took a step back. “Everything we can. Tom’s hitting the main ports, and we’ve paid a few detectives to run some inland searches. We thought we were close, but they must have changed hands or been taken to a summer estate or some shit.” Gabe shoved a hand through his hair, distracted and agitated. “We’re going to get them back. I swear on...whatever you want me to. I swear; I’m getting them back. I’ll pay whatever it takes.

Spencer pushed to his feet, somehow making himself ignore the way Brendon clutched at him. “Thank you. For that. It’s not going to help Ryan or Jon, but. Thank you.” Surprisingly, he meant it. Taking a deep breath, Spencer nodded again and headed for the door.

A few discordant notes filled the silence; there was fabric shifting on the sofa. Just before the door shut behind him, Spencer heard Bob say “I’ll go.” Spencer didn’t stop to ask questions.

There were footsteps not far behind him the whole way through the house and up the stairs, through the trapdoor and into the attic. Spencer kept moving, not sure where he was going but just walking aimlessly. He reached the far back wall and its sheet-covered sofa before he considered stopping.

Stepping up onto seat cushions, Spencer turned and sat on the back, leaning against the wall. He stared down at the gray sheet and tried not to wince when Bob sat down.

Bob leaned against the sofa, pressed close to Spencer’s right leg. Spencer waited for him to say something, waited for questions and comments he should have known wouldn’t come. Brendon would have been talking. He would have been on his knees so he could look at Spencer with concerned eyes and asked a million questions, coaxed Spencer into talking until he was sure Spencer was okay again. Spencer probably would have kissed him to both thank him and shut him up.

This wasn’t like that. Bob seemed content to wait. He sat there, staring straight ahead and not saying anything. It was about as maddening as it was calming. Spencer sort of wanted to jump on him, but he knew he couldn’t.

“You should go check on Brendon,” Spencer finally told him.

Bob scoffed. “He’s fine. He’s with Victoria. He doesn’t really hold the grudge against them that you do.”

“Are you saying,” Spencer snapped, “that I shouldn’t be mad at Saporta for not letting us go? I get it, but -”

“Not what I meant, Spencer.” Bob turned then. He pressed his arm to the back of the sofa, fingers lightly brushing Spencer’s side; it wasn’t helping matters. “Saporta was the first kind person Brendon was around. He’s a little grateful. You’re family loved you; they didn’t sell you to make rent.”

“Dowry,” Spencer corrected, feeling a little sick like he did every time Brendon’s story came up. “They sold him to get a dowry so his sister could marry some minor lord.”

“Still. Gabe gave Brendon a family. He gave him _you_.”

“Stop,” Spencer whispered. “You can’t say things like that. Not when... Not when you and Brendon are doing whatever you’re doing and I’m just distracting him.”

“Spencer?”

Leaning forward, Spencer pressed his face to his knees. He let his hands curl around his ankles in an effort to hold himself still. He wasn’t sure it worked but it was the best he could do.

“I know,” he mumbled into his knees. “I saw you in the stable. I tried to stay out of your way, but... he’s Brendon. I can’t just let that go, not until he says. Not until that’s what he wants, what’s going to make him happy. I... I’m sorry, but I can’t just let him go. Not even for you. Maybe not even if you ask me to.”

Forcing himself to look at Bob, Spencer turned his head until his cheek was against his knee. For the first time ever, Bob’s mouth was slightly agape. His eyes were wide and his forehead wrinkled. He looked absolutely ridiculous; Spencer wanted to crawl into his lap anyway.

“You’re such a dumb little fuck,” Bob whispered. He shook his head and smiled sort of softly.

Bob reached out to run his fingers over Spencer’s cheek. Spencer’s eyes closed for all of a second, just to savor the feeling, before Bob told him he wanted Spencer to stay away from Brendon. Somewhere in that second, Bob leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Spencer’s lips.

Spencer’s eyes flew open; he took a deep breath, leaning away. “What...”

Shaking his head, Bob slipped his fingers into Spencer’s hair. He moved his fingers in a light massage, and Spencer bit down on his lip. “And people think Brendon is the oblivious one.”

Opening his mouth to ask just what the hell _that_ meant, Spencer lost his train of thought. Bob was just _looking_ at him with these bright blue eyes, and his face was open in this way that showed everything he was feeling: fondness, hope, something Spencer didn’t know how to name. It was heady and Spencer didn’t know how to deal with it.

He probably shouldn’t have chosen to lean forward and meet Bob halfway, but he never claimed to have much willpower. The angle was awkward, and Spencer was practically falling off the back of the sofa, but, Bob’s _mouth_.

Bob coaxed his lips open, hesitant, in this way where Spencer didn’t even notice it happening until Bob’s tongue was stroking his. Spencer made this tiny sound, something like a whimper that he wanted to be embarrassed about but couldn’t find the energy. He shifted, trying to get closer, nearly slipping off the sofa, but Bob caught him.

Using a hand on Spencer’s shoulder, Bob guided him down until Spencer was straddling his lap. It was so much better like this. Spencer cupped Bob’s face in his hands - Bob’s beard scratchy and somehow the hottest thing ever - and tilted Bob’s head back. Bob ran his hands up the back of Spencer’s shirt, his blunt nails catching against the scars Spencer tried to forget were there.

Spencer rocked his hips down against Bob’s, trying to press closer if only by inches, and earned a groan for his trouble. That’s about the part where Spencer stopped thinking all together. Bob’s fingers were digging into his back, and Bob was biting at his lips. Spencer broke out of the kiss, gasping for air and pressing more insistently down against Bob.

“Fuck, look at you,” Bob whispered. He sounded awed; Spencer hid his face by sucking at the soft skin hidden behind Bob’s ear.

Bob grunted, tangling a hand in Spencer’s hair to pull his head back. He went straight for Spencer’s neck, skimming his teeth down his throat and sucking at this spot just above his collarbone. Spencer whined, holding onto the back of Bob’s head with one hand and using the other to brace against the wall.

When Bob bit down, Spencer cried out and thrust sharply down, the sharp pain going straight to his cock. Bob moved against him, tiny shifts of his hips. The friction of Spencer’s clothes against his hardening cock was just the right side of _too much_.

Spencer tugged Bob’s head back up to get at his mouth. His hands were gripping Bob’s shoulders, and shit, why were there so many clothes in the way?

“Off,” Spencer whined, mostly saying it around Bob’s tongue.

Bob chuckled; the vibrations tickled against Spencer’s face. Spencer kissed him again, biting down at the same time he pressed their hips together just enough to have them both panting. Bob pushed Spencer back, not far but enough to tug his own shirt over his head before tackling Spencer’s. As soon as his shirt was out of the way, Spencer leaned back in, gasping at the feel of skin on skin.

He arched his back, trying to feel as much as he could, his skin burning from how warm Bob was. It was almost like being with Brendon, the ridiculous _heat_ of it all. Spencer tried not to picture Brendon’s face; that was easier when he caught Bob’s lower lip between his teeth and heard Bob hiss.

Bob slid his hand down Spencer’s back, his calluses slipping over the thin sheen of sweat already forming all over Spencer’s body. Dropping his hands lower, Bob caressed his ass, gripping down suddenly. Spencer whined, squirming even as Bob pulled him down until the hard lines of their cocks lined up in a dirty grind.

Spencer licked and nipped his way down Bob’s throat, scratching his blunt nails down Bob’s chest. When his hands hit Bob’s trousers, he went straight for the fastenings. There was a small bow tied in the strings instead of buttons. It should have been easier, but what the fuck.

“Who the hell _ties_ themselves into their clothes?” Spencer most certainly did not pout when he leaned back to see what he was doing.

Bob chuckled, low and gravelly enough to make Spencer shudder. “Here, let me.”

The next thing Spencer knew, Bob had lifted him by the waist and dropped him onto his back on the sofa. Spencer stared as Bob went to work on the buttons of Spencer’s pants. “The manhandling is kind of turning me on.” He meant it to be sarcastic, but, well.

“I’m just getting started,” Bob promised, with a completely wicked slant to his lips.

Bob let his touches linger, fingers digging in just enough for Spencer to feel it as he deftly undid the buttons and worked Spencer’s trousers down his legs. He stopped to tug at Spencer’s shoes, kissing the inside of Spencer’s thighs as he worked.

“Too slow,” Spencer panted.

Shaking his head, Bob managed to pull Spencer’s clothes all the way off. Spencer took a minute to let his mind freak out about being so sprawled out, cock flushed and resting against his stomach, and vulnerable in a way he didn’t have to be with Brendon. He almost wanted to cover himself up; Bob was with Brendon, and no one in the right mind would want to trade _him_ and his _perfect_ ass for Spencer and his too-wide hips and burn marks on his chest.

Bob stood, staring. He licked his lips, fingers paused where they were on his still mostly tied trousers. Spencer squirmed and thought, what the hell, might as well give Bob a show. He slid a hand down his chest, fingers tickling his stomach before tracing the stiff line of his cock. He groaned, hips jerking up into his own touch. The sound Bob made was neither human nor machine.

Spencer wanted to hear it all the time. Except there was one thing he wanted more. “Bob. Please. Want to see.”

Without waiting for any more permission than that, Bob shucked off the rest of the clothes. He was on Spencer immediately, body wider than Spencer’s, stronger, holding him down. Spencer would feel disappointed that he didn’t get to look, but he had all of Bob’s hot, hot skin against his own.

Bob’s stomach brushed Spencer’s cock. Spencer thrust up, trying to sustain the touch, and reached down to hold tight to Bob’s hips. Whining - honest to God _whining_ \- Bob wedged his hand between them, using his thumb to swipe over the head of Spencer’s cock. Spencer writhed – wanton and unashamed – when Bob shifted and wrapped his hand around both of them.

Bob’s rhythm was slower than Brendon usually allowed, but it was perfect, helping the pressure curl and build in Spencer’s stomach. Spencer tried to keep up, but Bob’s cock was sliding against his, the heads catching in a not unpleasant way. God. Spencer just wanted _more_.

He was babbling, talking nonsense that he couldn’t concentrate on. Boldly, he gripped Bob’s ass, pulling him down _hard_. Bob bit down on the juncture of Spencer’s shoulder and neck. That was all it took for the pressure to break. Spencer threw his head back, eyes unseeing as Bob stroked him through it. The slide was easier, wet and sticky with Spencer’s come.

Spencer lost track of everything, but Bob was suddenly stilling above him, hand squeezing tight enough to make Spencer whimper if not for how delicious the heat of Bob coming against his skin was.

“Fucking...” Bob didn’t finish, collapsing against Spencer’s body and kissing him with something close to possession.

The afterglow didn’t last as long as Spencer would have liked.

He was still staring at Bob’s face, watching his cheeks start to lose their flush and his eyes stop sparkling quite so much. And _this_ was the part where Spencer got to _hear_ that he was a mistake. _Wonderful!_

But Bob didn’t say anything. He just tugged at the corner of the sofa cover-slash-sheet and wiped his hand, cleaned them both up. Spencer hated the way his breath caught and his stomach jumped at the touch, his dick aching like it was trying to stir in interest even though it was too soon. Spencer tried to think of something to say, something that would make the squirmy, uncomfortable feeling in his chest go away.

Before he could work out his thoughts, Ray was yelling up the stairs, something about dinner or desserts or death, something with a ‘d’ anyway. Spencer stared at Bob for a long moment, biting his lip hard enough to leave marks and fighting a blush. Bob leaned up, catching his mouth for a kiss, forcing Spencer to stop hurting himself.

“Give us a minute!” He yelled in the general direction of the door. Bob smiled at him, soft and sated, before moving to get dressed.

Spencer was mostly on autopilot as he did the same.

**********

Dinner was louder than normal, even though Gabe seemed unusually subdued. Gerard was looking smug, but Spencer didn’t really care about what had happened once he left. He just sat in his seat beside Brendon and picked at his vegetables. He spent a lot of time pretending he didn’t see the looks Bob kept sending him, but he couldn’t help it.

Fuck. Brendon was going to be so pissed. Or maybe not. This was all getting too confusing.

He sent one last sad look at Brendon and excused himself while everyone was laughing about Nate setting fire to Alex’s room under questionable circumstances.

Spencer wanted to wander around, but it was too dark out and he didn’t like carrying lanterns when it was windy. Instead, he headed upstairs and tried to get ready for bed.

It was still too early to sleep when he slid under his quilt. He pulled the oil lamp a little closer and reached for the book he and Brendon were both reading. Brendon was about twenty pages ahead, and Spencer was trying to catch up because Brendon was shit at keeping the plot twists to himself.

He was two pages in when Brendon came to find him.

“Hey,” Brendon smiled. He pulled the door closed and put his candle out before getting ready for bed. His clothes ended up in a misshapen pile by one of the chairs, but Spencer would deal with that in the morning, as always.

Stripped down to his underwear, Brendon inched closer to Spencer’s bed. Head tilted down, Brendon looked up through his eyelashes. Something sick curled in Spencer’s stomach. He put the book away and closed his eyes.

“Bren... I. I have to tell you something.” His voice was rougher than usual, but clearing his throat didn’t help.

Brendon sat on the edge of the bed, scooting back until he was against the headboard beside Spencer. “Okay. What is it?”

“You’re not going to like it,” Spencer told him. “You might hate me for it.”

“I’m not going to hate you.” So, so earnest.

His head made a low _thunk_ when it hit the wall. “I had sex with Bob. Earlier. In the attic.” Spencer very carefully kept his eyes trained on the ceiling.

This was it. Right now was when Brendon told him to go, that he didn’t want Spencer here anymore, that he couldn’t _trust_ Spencer anymore. He was going to say Spencer was stealing from him, _something_. It was going to hurt and Spencer didn’t know if he’d physically be able to keep it together before Brendon left him behind with a slammed door to keep him company.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Spencer repeated, incredulous.

Brendon rested his head against Spencer’s shoulder and reached for his hand. When their fingers were linked, he went on. “Yeah. It’s okay. We had sex in the lounge last week. Don’t tell Bill.”

Spencer laughed because it was expected, even if he didn’t feel it. “Yeah, okay.” He _knew_ something had happened with Brendon and Bob, but he wasn’t _sure_. Somehow, hearing it come from Brendon made it worse.

“Are you upset?”

“No,” Spencer promised. “I really can’t be now, right?”

“Hey.” Brendon turned until he was fully facing Spencer. “Hey, look at me.” As soon as Spencer turned, Brendon pressed a kiss to his chin. “It’s okay.”

“It’s really not,” Spencer insisted. He hoped he didn’t sound as miserable as he felt.

Tugging until Spencer’s arm was around his shoulders, Brendon snuggled up close. He nosed against Spencer’s neck, pressing light kisses up to his ear. He laughed, just a little. “You’ll see,” he whispered, breath brushing Spencer’s skin. He nipped at the spot behind Spencer’s ear, the place that always made Spencer whine and beg. “Just wait. It’ll all be fine.”

Wanting so desperately to believe him, Spencer turned until he found Brendon’s mouth with his. He could worry about all of this falling down around his ears tomorrow.

**********

Except that didn’t happen. Nothing crashed down on him, no one told him to go away or that he was a horrible friend and an even worse boyfriend. None of that happened, but things started to get weird. Weirder, really, since things were pretty fucked up to begin with.

Mostly, it was Bob and Brendon. Whenever Spencer stumbled across them, they were always leaned close together, whispering. Brendon almost always seemed downright frantic, but Bob’s voice was level and soft. It seemed to work wonders at getting Brendon to calm down, or maybe that was just Spencer showing up and interrupting.

Spencer spent a lot of time trying to avoid them, which turned out to be pretty easy. Ryland and Alex were doing this weird thing where they kept trying to pull him into conversation. He showed them the fieldhouse just because they asked, and Spencer sort of liked the way Bob’s expression went just a little pinched when Spencer agreed.

He stayed up late playing cards and alternately winning enough to make Ryland bitch and losing it all to Alex a couple hands later. They were all trying to break even, and Spencer refused to be the one to call it quits, even when Brendon came along and practically climbed in his lap with covered yawns and pleading eyes.

Then there was the touching. Whenever Bob got the chance, he had at least one hand on Spencer. Fingers pressing against the small of Spencer’s back, shoulders pressed close together, hand running through Spencer’s hair: it was always something, and Frank seemed to find it positively _hysterical_. Spencer didn’t want to like it so much, but he couldn’t resist leaning back into the touches when he could.

For his part, Brendon had taken to laying some sort of claim on Spencer. Every time he left a room, Brendon stopped to press a quick kiss to Spencer’s lips. When he came back, there was always a kiss to Spencer’s cheek. Whenever they sat together, Brendon burrowed in closer than usual and breathed heavily against Spencer’s skin.

All of this was great, but it was also incredibly maddening. It was always the worst when all three of them were together.

Spencer tried to hide after dinner, but Brendon followed him, and, as was becoming the norm, Bob followed where Brendon led.

“So,” Brendon started, pushing Bob to sit beside Spencer on the bed. He flopped down on Bob’s other side. “Pete’s delivering our clothes for the party tomorrow. You’re going to let me dress you, right?”

Although he tried not to, Spencer laughed. “As long as I don’t have to match the purple waistcoat you want.”

“Don’t hate on my master plan of introducing color into your life.” Brendon leaned around Bob to stick his tongue out.

“At least he’s not letting Pete have free rein again,” Bob chuckled.

Spencer rolled his eyes and groaned. “I was new. I didn’t know better than to let Pete make whatever the hell he wanted.”

Bob ran his fingers through Spencer’s hair in apology. The movement was smooth and soothing; Spencer sighed.

“Maybe we should get you in blue,” Bob decided. “It’ll work with your eyes.”

Spencer turned his head, not enough to dislodge the hold Bob had on his hair, but enough to catch his eyes. “Does that mean we get you in color, too?”

Brendon cut off Bob’s response. “He refuses to put on anything not black, white, or boring.”

“Practical,” Bob corrected, poking Brendon in the shoulder.

Spencer saw it coming, but he still laughed fondly when Brendon caught Bob’s finger with his teeth. Bob growled and flicked Brendon’s nose. Brendon pouted, and Spencer kept laughing.

The sound seemed to capture Brendon’s interest. Always going for shock value, Brendon climbed over Bob. It took a little maneuvering, but he settled himself over Spencer’s lap, thighs bracketing Spencer’s. He traced his fingers over Spencer’s nose, along his eyebrows, down to his lips.

Eyes sliding half-closed, Spencer didn’t bother hiding his goofy smile when Brendon nuzzled their noses together.

Spencer stopped, his mouth going slack against Brendon’s. His heart was racing, mind spinning, and he felt a little like he was going to throw up.

“Brendon. Brendon, _stop_ ,” Spencer begged. He shook Bob’s hand out of his hair and tightened his hold on Brendon’s waist. Lifting with everything he had – not that it took much effort since Brendon was still kind of tiny – Spencer pulled Brendon up. Somehow, he managed to shove Brendon into Bob’s lap and get to his feet.

Once standing, he couldn’t seem to hold still. His whole body seemed to be wracked with tiny shivers, and he didn’t know what to do with his hands. He alternated between shoving them in his pockets and just waving them around in meaningless gestures. Pacing wasn’t helping either. Spencer kept stopping to glance back at the bed, back to where Brendon was pressed close to Bob’s side.

Brendon’s eyes were wide and a little wet-looking. He was hunched over, making himself smaller. Bob, in contrast, was sitting perfectly straight, his back and shoulders rigid. His eyes looked hard, like he’d made a decision and was just waiting to spring it on Spencer.

None of it was _right_ ; it was all so utterly _wrong_. Spencer needed to make it stop, make everything normal again. That was the only reason he had for the words spilling from his lips.

“You have to stop. Okay? Just... No more. I can’t,” Spencer rubbed his hands over his face and stopped in the center of the room. He felt lost in his own surroundings. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Do what?” Brendon asked, subdued.

“I can’t be in the middle. It’s... it hurts, okay?” Spencer tried to pretend he didn’t hear the soft, pained sound Brendon made. Biting his lip, he blinked as rapidly as he could. “When you...kiss me like that and when _you_ touch me like that I can’t _think_ and it’s too much.” He didn’t specify who went with which action; it didn’t even matter.

“Spen-”

Spencer shook his head before Brendon could finish. If one of them was ending this... thing... it might as well be Spencer, and it might as well be then. “I get it, okay? I see why you want each other.” He forced himself to breathe through the ache that had taken up residence in his chest. “I see it. Bob’s all solid and shit. And Bren, you’re like the fucking personification of hope. I’m a fucking mess.”

“Spencer, you-”

“Brendon, shut up!” Spencer snapped, ignoring the way Bob glared afterwards. After a few breaths, Spencer looked up and willed his face to stay blank, his eyes to stay dry just a little while longer. The burn in his throat was getting worse, threatening to close off his airway until Spencer gave in and let everything rush out. He just had to make it a little longer… then he could run. “I was never going to be able to make it work with either of you. I don’t deserve to, really. Not with how I always _lose_ things. And just _look_ at both of you. Who’d trade that for me?”

Bob, oddly enough, waved a hand at him. He shook his head, making a slicing motion through the air with his hand. He basically flailed enough to make Spencer think of Gerard; it would have been funny if Spencer wasn’t too busy ripping his own heart out.

“Brendon.” Spencer bit his lip. “I can’t be, I don’t know, the _catalyst _for you guys. You’re... _everything_. And, Bob, you’re... You’re not Brendon, but you’re _something_. And you make each other happy and that’s more important, okay? You _fit_ and I know there’s nowhere – There’s not. Not for me... So. Just. Just stop. Please.”__

His voice broke, cracking on the last word, splitting the vowel sound and creating an extra syllable. Spencer was proud he’d made it that far, but now he needed to get away, and his stupid fucking feet wouldn’t cooperate. He squeezed his eyes shut until he couldn’t see even their outlines anymore.

Being so wrapped up in his own misery, Spencer missed Brendon getting up. Missed it right until Brendon’s body slammed into his chest. Instinctively, Spencer brought his arms up to wrap around him. Brendon was tilting his head, trying to force eye contact, and he was rambling.

“How can you be so damn stupid?” Brendon sounded like his heart was breaking. “You’re not getting _replaced_ or _pushed out_ or what-the-hell-ever.”

“But I see-”

Then Bob was behind him, resting his hands on Spencer’s hips. “Don’t want you to go away. Fuck, Smith.” He squeezed until Spencer wanted to pull away.

Brendon stretched up, pressing quick kisses all over Spencer’s cheeks and lips. “We want you with us. Nothing... nothing is the same without you.”

Spencer startled, tried to pull away. But he was stuck between their bodies, trapped in Brendon’s hold on his neck and Bob’s grip on his hips. “But that’s crazy. You can’t really mean, not all three of us. That doesn’t...”

“Do you want us?” Bob whispered, breath ghosting across Spencer’s ear.

Turning his head until his eyes were hidden against Brendon’s temple, Spencer tried to think of how to answer. This whole thing was such a _delicate_ situation, and he didn’t know how to tell them he was scared out of his mind.

Fingers threaded into his hair, jittery - Brendon. “You get to decide. Do you want to try? With us? Because I think we could be good together.”

“We,” Bob repeated.

Spencer wanted to give in, just go with it, because Brendon had good instincts. It would be so easy for Spencer to just fall into this with them and not think twice. Not thinking had gotten him into trouble more than once.

“I... want to. But,” Spencer sighed. “What if it falls apart?”

“It won’t,” Brendon promised. He was intense, as always. “And we’ll fix it if it does.”

“What if...”

Bob kissed his crown. “Trust us. We’ve talked about it.”

“Really?” Spencer stood up straighter. Brendon never discussed serious things, not if he could help it, not unless it was _absolutely_ necessary or unavoidable.

Brendon stretched up to kiss him. “Yeah,” he whispered against Spencer’s lips.

This time, Spencer didn’t startle or pull away. He leaned back into Bob and let Brendon have his mouth, kiss slow and deliberate.

Bob's fingers twitched on his hips. Spencer smiled against Brendon's mouth, bringing his hands up to Brendon's face to tilt him to a better angle. Brendon's fingers slipped into his hair, tugging his head to the side, letting Bob set his lips against the sensitive spot where Spencer's neck met his shoulder.

Two sets of lips and hands touching him had Spencer moaning. He was starting to lose the ability to think straight, but his body was willing to act without guidance. He dropped his hands to Brendon's shoulders, hips twitching forward against Brendon's then grinding back against Bob when he couldn't decide which sensation to chase. Brendon stepped forward enough that Spencer could slip a knee between Brendon's, press up against Brendon's crotch.

Brendon groaned, biting into Spencer's lip. Bob hummed, sucking hard enough to leave marks.

Spencer reached back, clutching until he got a hand on the back of Bob's head, holding him in place. Bob's hands left his hips, making Spencer frown around Brendon's tongue. Before Spencer had time to get worked up over the loss, Bob's hands were back, stroking over Spencer's chest and playing with the buttons of his shirt.

Bob ran his thumbs over Spencer's nipples, teasing before suddenly squeezing down. A groan tore out of Spencer's throat, hips twitching. He broke his mouth away to breathe, head falling back against Bob's shoulder as Brendon started helping with Spencer’s buttons.

The angle gave him a perfect close-up of Brendon stretching up on his tip-toes to kiss Bob over Spencer's shoulder. Spencer could see flashes of tongue, the fleeting moments where Bob let Brendon control the kiss. He tightened his fingers in Bob's hair until Bob groaned, pressing his erection against Spencer's ass. Spencer rolled his hips in counterpoint; Brendon followed and rocked against Spencer's thigh.

Fingertips calloused from guitar strings were pulling Spencer's shirt over his shoulders. He couldn't focus enough to let Brendon go, but Bob pulled Spencer’s hands away until the shirt fell to the floor.

Brendon stepped back, fingers tracing a pattern down Spencer's chest before he pulled away to deal with his own shirt. Spencer stared, still not used to seeing Brendon like this, fairly sure he never would be. Brendon smirked, throwing in a wink as his hands stroked down his own body, nails dragging in a way Spencer wouldn't have tried with Brendon - he was always a little cautious with his touches. When Brendon reached his waistband, he made short work of the ties and shucked his pants in one seriously _sinful_ shimmy. He wasn't wearing underwear and Spencer suddenly knew this wasn't as spontaneous as he was led to believe.

"God," Bob whispered, awed. Spencer could relate.

Biting his lip, Spencer was trying not to let himself reach out, because Bob was there. But that was ridiculous. He was _allowed_ to have Brendon, even with Bob watching. Somehow, that made a spark shoot straight to his cock.

He must have twitched with the sensation, because Bob's hands were suddenly at his waist and Brendon was falling to his knees, pulling Spencer's remaining clothes with him. Spencer stepped out of them on autopilot; he wasn't sure how he was moving when he was entranced by the naked line of Brendon's back and the way Brendon was hard already just from the promise of what was to come.

Brendon pressed his lips to Spencer's hipbone, nipping and sucking like he was trying to leave marks. Spencer dropped a hand to Brendon's hair and tried not to beg too much.

"Bob," Spencer said in a voice so rough he barely recognized it as his own. "May never say this again." He broke off to groan as Brendon started stroking at his thighs and nuzzling against the line of hair trailing down from his bellybutton. "You're fucking overdressed."

Chuckling and muttering something about bossiness, Bob stepped away. Spencer started to fall back, but Brendon's hands on his ass caught him. Brendon's grip was a little too tight, but he eased it into a sort of kneading motion that had Spencer's head spinning. He was distantly aware of clothes rustling around behind him, but Brendon chose that moment to lap at the head of Spencer's cock.

"Fuck. Your _mouth_ ," Spencer murmured.

"Fucking amazing, right." It wasn't actually a question; Bob apparently already knew.

Spencer almost wanted to get indignant about how Bob had had Brendon on his knees first, but Bob was pressing close again, warm skin and chest hair catching against Spencer's back. Bob wiggled closer as Brendon pushed Spencer back. For one moment, Spencer felt how hard Bob was, nestled close to his ass. Suddenly, Spencer had never wanted anything more.

“Please,” Spencer whined.

“What do you want?” Bob asked. But when Spencer opened his mouth the answer, Brendon licked up his cock and sucked the head into his mouth. All Spencer got out was a loud gasp. His hips tried to shift forward, but Bob held him still. Bob was breathing heavily when he said, “What, Spencer?”

A blush spread up his chest. Spencer shook his head, but Bob seemed insistent. Brendon sucked hard, and Spencer felt the tug straight through his stomach.

“Bed,” Spencer forced out. “Want. Inside. _Please._ ” For once, he didn’t care if he was begging.

Brendon moaned around Spencer, and the vibrations made Spencer thrust his hips before he could stop it. Spencer tightened his hand in Brendon's hair and tugged until Brendon pulled away with an obscene, wet noise.

"Yeah," Bob agreed. He kissed Spencer's shoulder, then stepped away.

Moving around to stand behind Brendon, Bob reached down to grip his arms, help him up. Brendon pressed a hand to Spencer's cheek before turning to reach for Bob.

Spencer watched, mesmerized. They looked _amazing_ together: Brendon's darker skin and hair against Bob. They were both distracted, mouths crashing and bodies pressing together. Bob let his hands fall down Brendon's back until he was palming Brendon's ass, and Brendon's hands moved restlessly over Bob's shoulders and down his sides. Bob tugged Brendon closer, practically lifting him off the floor to grind against him, and Spencer had to grab his dick, hard, a little afraid of coming without being touched.

Spencer could have watched them for days, except the throbbing between his legs was getting more insistent, and want was coursing through his body in waves. He stepped around Bob, gripping his hips and tugging backwards. Bob moved with the pressure, bringing Brendon with them.

Spencer set his mouth against the nape of Bob's neck, backing up until his legs hit the edge of his bed. He sucked hard against Bob's skin before letting go and crawling backwards onto the mattress to settle against the pillows.

Bob and Brendon were watching him suddenly, making his entire body heat up in something that might have been embarrassment. Brendon bit his lip to cover his grin while Bob climbed onto the bed beside him.

"Fucking hell," Bob muttered before catching Spencer's lips. It wasn't a kiss, just a tease before he was pulling away and rummaging around in the bedside table Brendon had taken over. When he came back, he was holding a small glass bottle of some sort of colorless oil. He poured a bit into his palm, coating his fingers.

Spencer's breath stopped. He let his eyes travel from Bob's hand to his eyes then down his body to the hard line of his cock. It's not that Spencer wanted it any less, but Spencer maybe hadn't thought this all the way through.

Bob must have caught the mild panic in his eyes. He leaned back down to kiss Spencer, keeping it light until Spencer started stretching up to follow Bob whenever he pulled back.

"You sure you want to do this?" Bob sounded doubtful, but Spencer didn't listen; that way laid madness. Instead, he nodded and shut his eyes to catch his breath.

"You're going to love it," Brendon piped up as he curled up at Spencer's other side. "Bob's fingers are fucking awesome. He'll have you begging in about three seconds."

"No pressure or anything." Bob chuckled, and Spencer could _see_ him roll his eyes.

Spencer let out a shaky laugh. "I've got a lot of expectations here," he told them with more bravado than he felt. The nerves were swimming in his stomach, but he could deal with minor anxiety if Bob would just fucking _touch_ him.

"Okay, okay.” Bob nudged at Spencer's shoulder, exerting enough pressure to have him roll onto his stomach.

Spencer lifted up onto his knees, dropping his head down to press his face into the pillow.

The oil made Bob's fingers cool when he touched Spencer, his hand sliding over Spencer's back then lower, tracing around Spencer’s rim. Bob kissed at the dimples above Spencer’s ass, then up his spine as he sank the first finger inside.

It was... not bad. Different or strange, maybe, but not bad. When Bob started thrusting his finger, Spencer felt his hips move into it. The second finger was different, felt like a lot more even though it couldn’t be. Bob scissored his fingers and Spencer whined.

Brendon was there, pulling Spencer’s face up to pepper kisses all over his cheeks and forehead, his eyelids and hairline. He pulled away when Spencer started rocking backwards with every stroke of Bob’s fingers.

"God, Spence," Brendon murmured. "If you could see..." He broke off to press kisses to Spencer's back. He seemed distracted by what he was seeing, and it brought some of Spencer's urgency back.

"Bren. Kiss. _Brendon_ ," Spencer whined until Brendon was back. His hand was in Spencer's hair when he finally brought their mouths together. Spencer tried to focus on that.

He did a passable job until Bob added a third finger, the stretching a lot more noticeable. Spencer started to whimper, but it broke off into a moan when Bob did... _something_ with his fingers. He did it again, and Spencer's back arched, trying to press into the touch. He broke away from Brendon's mouth to groan into the pillow.

Suddenly, Bob's fingers were gone. Spencer felt oddly empty and discontent until there was a blunt pressure against him, thicker than fingers. It should have been worrisome, but _fuck that_ ; Spencer wanted more. He pressed back, trying to give Bob some kind of cue. It must have translated; Bob's cock was pressing into him, a slow pressure that almost felt like it was splitting him in two.

Something finally _gave_ and Spencer could feel Bob's hips pressed to his ass. Spencer panted into the pillow, forcing his body to relax. It was a lot to feel all at once, but after a second he nodded.

"Can you..." Spencer squirmed. "You can move."

Bob didn't make him repeat himself. He moved carefully, pulsing his hips a few times before pulling away and thrusting back in. Spencer bit his lip, trying to quiet the tiny sounds bubbling up in his chest. Brendon's hand wrapped around Spencer's cock, a sudden pressure Spencer didn't expect. He moaned, loudly, and tried to chase both feelings at once.

"Perfect," Bob whispered against his ear before pulling away from Spencer's back. When he thrust back in, the angle was different, and Bob was brushing that _spot_ Spencer was realizing he fucking _loved_. Spencer used his hands to shove himself back, not really letting Bob pull out.

Bob suddenly rolled to the side, taking Spencer with him. He gripped Spencer's knee hard enough to sting and held his leg higher. Then Brendon's mouth was closing over Spencer's cock, this perfect suction that Brendon _knew_ made Spencer melt.

They set opposing rhythms. One minute, Bob was pressed deep inside, right against that spot, and Spencer's cock was buried as far into Brendon's mouth as Brendon could take him. The next, Brendon was mouthing the head and Bob had pulled almost completely out.

Everything was moving too fast and too slow all at the same time. It was driving Spencer out of his mind. He knew he was talking, saying nonsense mixed with names and inarticulate breathy sounds. The pressure was building, fast and hot. Spencer tried to hang on, vaguely aware that it would be embarrassing to come immediately.

Bob slammed in, hard, grinding deliberately. Brendon flattened his tongue along the underside of Spencer's cock and pulled back, sucking the whole way. It was messy and delicious. Bob said something, words Spencer couldn't focus on, and caught Spencer's earlobe between his teeth. Spencer tried to press back, pull him in closer and tug Brendon's head tighter against him.

Brendon scraped his teeth gently against Spencer's cock, and Spencer tugged his hair. He tried to choke out a warning, but Bob shifted in this way that made Spencer's eyes roll. His muscles tightened, and a jolt raced through him. His body shook, and Brendon was still sucking. Bob was thrusting again, faster and harder this time.

It was almost too much in the aftermath. Spencer's body seemed to want to do nothing but shake and feel clumsy. He pushed weakly at Brendon's shoulder until Brendon fell to his back. Spencer moaned Bob's name and gripped the sheet in one hand, reaching back for Bob's hip with the other. Bob slammed in one more time, grunted, and kissed at Spencer's back.

Heat flooded Spencer when Bob came, and _shit, shit_. It was too intense. Spencer whined, gasped, squirmed back until Bob stopped moving and sank down into the mattress. He seemed to be as boneless as Spencer felt.

Bob was still huffing wet breaths against Spencer's neck, stirring his hair, and Spencer was still clinging to the sheet and shifting with how full he felt.

He forced his eyes open when he heard Brendon whine, low and plaintive. Brendon looked fucking _amazing_. He was writhing, thrusting against his own hand as he rubbed down his cock. His lip was caught between his teeth, cheeks flushed, hair a complete mess. He whined again, and Spencer turned his head to glance at Bob. Bob smiled his slow, sated grin and nodded.

Even though he moved carefully, Spencer bit back a slightly pained sound when Bob pulled out. Bob pressed a kiss to Spencer's shoulder before climbing over both Spencer and Brendon. He waved a hand in Spencer's general direction until Spencer clued in and snatched the bottle of oil from the bedside table. His fingers lingered a little when he handed the bottle to Bob, but Bob only smiled with his eyes at Spencer.

Spencer helped Bob turn Brendon to his side. Just watching for a moment, Spencer reached up to trace Brendon’s swollen lips with his thumb. Brendon pressed a kiss to the pad of his finger, sighing softly. Spencer moved his hand down, tracing Brendon’s ribs before finally knocking Brendon's hand away from his own cock. Spencer replaced it with his own. He rubbed his palm over the head to gather the moisture before circling Brendon's cock in his fist. He didn't actually have to move his hand much; Brendon threw his head back and thrust against Spencer's hand in desperation.

He was babbling, saying broken phrases and nothing at all. Spencer inched closer, nosing under Brendon's chin until Brendon clawed at his neck to pull him into a kiss. It was chaotic, Brendon too distracted to actually kiss with any finesse. Brendon tasted different, sharper, and that must be Spencer's taste on his tongue. Spencer groaned and forced Brendon's mouth open to chase the taste.

Spencer didn't mind, not at all. Especially since he knew the second Bob slid the first finger inside by the way Brendon stilled for a moment. His whole body froze, and Spencer bit his lip to distract him, twisting his wrist and squeezing on the upstroke. Brendon moaned and moved with it.

He seemed much looser after that, only gasping when Bob added another finger. Bob must have done that amazing crook-thing with his fingers. because Brendon cried out. He rocked back hard against Bob's fingers, his hips twisting hard enough to jamb Spencer's wrist when he moved back into Spencer's hand. Spencer tightened his hold and sped up his motions. Spencer could see Bob's arm moving in counterpoint so that Brendon was thrusting into Spencer's hand one minute and then grinding on Bob's fingers in the next move.

Bringing a hand down, Brendon squeezed Spencer's fingers, forcing him to move fast and hold tighter. They weren't so much kissing as they were sharing air at this point. Brendon dropped his head back, and Spencer heard Bob's voice, rough and quiet.

"Come on, Bren," Bob said. "Want to see you again."

When Bob pressed his lips to Brendon's shoulder, Spencer took over. "You're so close. So gorgeous."

Whining, Brendon thrust into Spencer's hand a couple more times before freezing. His body stilled for a second before shivering, shuddering between the press of Bob and Spencer's bodies. Spencer stroked him through it and waited until he saw Bob pull his fingers away. He let go, pressing his fingers to Brendon's stomach, tracing across his hip until Spencer found Bob's wrist and held on.

Brendon was still moaning with nearly every breath he took, blinking slowly up at both of them. He stretched out, arching his back enough to make Spencer groan and Bob growl; Brendon laughed. He sounded so genuinely carefree that Spencer startled when Brendon shimmied down to the end of the bed and got to his feet.

He had a moment of panic so acute that the only thing he heard over the pounding in his ears was Bob’s quiet shushing noises. Spencer went easily when Bob tugged on his arm. He let Bob turn his head for a kiss, but Spencer was obviously distracted. He didn’t actually kiss back until the bed dipped behind him. Brendon ran a cloth over Spencer’s ass, across his hip, along his stomach, then moved onto Bob. When Brendon pulled away and there was a wet _plop_ sound from the nightstand, Spencer rolled until he was on his side, facing Brendon.

“You better not expect me to deal with that later.” His glower didn’t feel as strong as usual, but he didn’t really care.

Brendon shrugged, his eyes starting to droop. His voice was rough and abused when he spoke. “I don’t. Promise, Spencer Smith.” It was easier to accept that, especially since Brendon fought dirty by snuggling up to Spencer’s chest and kissing Spencer’s nose. Bob spooned up behind Spencer but didn’t say anything.

Feeling Brendon against his chest with a leg tossed casually over Spencer’s was normal, but Bob pressed tight against his back was new. The heavy weight of an extra arm thrown over his side and being able to look down and see Bob holding onto Brendon from across Spencer... It was all so novel.

Somehow, it was the safest he’d felt in longer than he could remember. He took a deep breath, taking in the scent of sex and sweat that was all around him. He wiggled a little, trying to get comfortable.

Brendon shifted closer. “Go t’ sleep.”

Spencer made a noncommittal sound, something that wasn’t agreement but wasn’t a denial either.

“Please?” Brendon pouted. “We can get all overly introspective tomorrow.”

“You’ll still...” Spencer hated himself for saying it, but he couldn’t help it. “This will still work tomorrow?”

“Mm Hm,” Brendon hummed. He snuggled in, buried his face against Spencer’s chest.

Spencer pressed his face against Brendon’s head, trying not to breathe too deeply and choke on Brendon’s hair.

“We’ll make it work,” Bob rumbled, lips brushing the nape of Spencer’s neck. He pressed a kiss there. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”

Spencer nodded, slipping his hand down to cover Bob’s on Brendon’s side. Closing his eyes, Spencer fought a yawn and tried to quiet his mind.

“Yeah. Okay.” This time, Spencer actually meant it.  


**********

  
**[EPILOGUE]**   


“Brendon!” Frank yelled from where he was probably still harassing Greta and her catering staff in the kitchen. “You guys better come see this!”

Spencer groaned and rolled over on the lounge sofa to bury his face against Bob’s thigh. “I’m not helping make anymore decisions about icing color or what-the-hell-ever.”

“Whatever, Spence,” Brendon scoffed. “You _insisted_ that the cake’s layers be different _and_ match the decorations.”

Bob chuckled. “As long as Gerard doesn’t make me hang any more fucking streamers. This place is going to burn to the ground when they light the chandelier.”

“Brendon!”

Spencer sat bolt upright. He turned to stare at Brendon with furrowed eyebrows. That was a voice Spencer didn’t recognize. It was too early for any of the guests to be arriving, and Spencer had met all of them enough times at this point to know their voices, anyway.

“That’s Tom.” Brendon was completely frozen, staring somewhere between Bob’s shoulder and the door.

Bob squeezed Spencer’s arm and started to stand. “Maybe it’s news. We’ll go see.”

Spencer was about to ask just what the hell was going on when he heard someone he hadn’t talked to since before the traveling sales house bought them.

“Urie! Smith!” Nate was yelling, but his voice sounded closer. “Where the fuck are you guys?” The words were clipped, and when Spencer heard heavy footfalls against the floor, he realized Nate must be running.

He was on his feet and in the doorway when Nate barreled right into him. He was kind of tiny, so Spencer didn’t have any trouble catching him. “What the hell?”

“Smith!” Nate regained his footing but pulled Spencer into a quick hug before Spencer backed out of the way. “How’ve you been? It’s fucking good to see you, man. Hold on a second.” He turned to yell down the hall. “Conrad! Lounge! Hurry the fuck up!”

Apparently, a herd of cattle was making its way through the house. Spencer stumbled back a step when that herd turned out to be every fucking person who lived at or was currently visiting Santi Manor. Pete was in the front, tugging some blond guy Spencer had never seen with him.

“Tom Conrad, Spencer Smith,” Nate explained. He moved around to stand with the group and look imploringly at Tom.

“Uh. Hi?”

“Tom!” Brendon spoke over him. He’d pushed his way up to stand beside Spencer; Spencer didn’t have to turn to know Bob was at his back, looking over his shoulder. “What’s going on?”

Tom took a few deep breaths, batting at his trousers to knock off some of the dirt. He looked like he’d fallen into a dirt pile trying to get off his horse.

“We found them.” Tom was looking at Brendon when he said it, but he turned to Spencer to repeat it. “We found Jon. And Ryan.”

All of Spencer’s breath left him in a rush. Blood was pounding in his ears and his feet just wanted to move, to _run_ to whereever Ryan and Jon were. He turned to look at Brendon instead, because this was... it couldn’t be real.

Brendon was as white as a sheet, practically vibrating right out of his skin. Spencer reached for his hand just as Bob slid a hand to his waist and the other to Spencer’s. The contact seemed to give Brendon some sort of courage.

He cleared his throat but still sounded rough when he asked, “Where? Are they okay? What do you know?”

“Not much,” Tom shook his head. “I know someone who knows someone who works for a magistrate across the gulf to the west. She thought the descriptions sounded familiar, and she snuck a look at some paperwork.” He took a deep breath, but Nate didn’t let him finish.

“Magistrate Berg’s gifts to his daughter for her birthday last year were one Jonathon Jacob Walker and one George Ryan Ross III. It’s got to be them.”

Spencer slumped back a little, let Bob take his weight. “For real? Are you fucking with me right now? Nate - “

“No,” Nate promised. “I saw her letter. Tom never gave her names, just descriptions and dates. It’s legit.”

Brendon was laughing, giggling so hard he sounded like he was sobbing. Spencer found his footing and grabbed at him, pulling Brendon into the tightest hug he could manage.

“They did it. They fucking _found them_ , Spencer. They...” Brendon broke off, gasping.

Spencer buried a hand in his hair and turned his head to look at the motley crew filling the hallway. “What do we do? When can we leave?”

“Spence,” Bob whispered from a few feet away. “You can’t go.”

Blood running cold, Spencer let go of Brendon to round on Bob. Had he somehow _missed_ how badly Spencer and Brendon needed to find Ryan and Jon? Had he failed to notice what a _mess_ they were sometimes over their two missing friends?

“Your papers,” Bob pointed out, reluctant and scowling. “You’re not free yet. I’m sorry.” When he reached out, Spencer stepped back against the doorframe. It wasn’t safe for a slave to travel any significant distance without their owner as an escort. No Papers of Permissions would hold up under any type of scrutiny once outside Bill’s district.

“I can transfer them,” Bill yelled from somewhere in the middle of their audience. “It takes about twenty minutes. Brendon could have your papers; no one would say anything.”

“ _No_.” Brendon sounded fierce in a way he normally didn’t bother with. “I’m not _owning_ Spencer. Not even. Not on a fucking technicality, not happening. We’ll think of something else. We’re not. I’m not.” He grabbed Spencer, grip tight enough to cut off circulation to Spencer’s fingers. “We can wait. I can’t do that. It wouldn’t...”

Spencer nodded, feeling just as frantic as Brendon sounded. “I know. I know. Shh. It’s okay.”

“It’ll be fine.” Bob grabbed both of them, careful with them as he pulled them back into the room and over to the chaise. As soon as he had Spencer and Brendon settled on it, made sure they had each other, he knelt down in front of them. “We don’t know our way around, anyway. We’ll wait for your papers and we’ll get some maps or some shit. We’ll go get them.”

“I know a guy.” Pete always did; Spencer nearly laughed. “Name’s Hall. He’s from out that way. I could pay him enough to have him drop his gig at the pub.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Gabe corrected. “Whatever he wants, tell him it’s his.”

Spencer looked up for the first time in a while. Almost everyone he knew in the world was crowding close to the door, staring and looking hopeful. They just wanted to help, wanted to know what they could do to make it easier for Spencer and Brendon to find what they’d lost. They wanted to make it right and fix the things they could. Biting his lip to hide the smile he felt blooming across his face, Spencer spared a glance for Brendon, then met Bob’s eyes.

Bob reached out, brushing a piece of hair out of Spencer’s eyes then pressing a kiss to Brendon’s knee.

“We’ll figure it out.”

Brendon was holding onto him, and Bob was watching with concern written all over his usually stoic face. Everyone else was talking over top of one another, making plans for the party that night and the trip they knew wasn’t more than a month away. In that moment, Spencer knew he was right. They were going to figure it out and fix the parts that still felt a little broken.

They’d fix it.  
 **[End]**

**Author's Note:**

>  **Bonus Tracks/Enhanced Content**
> 
>  **Fanart:**  
> [Artwork](http://bootson.livejournal.com/39627.html) by [](http://asmallbluedot.livejournal.com/profile)[**asmallbluedot**](http://asmallbluedot.livejournal.com/)
> 
>  **Fanmixes:**  
> [Fanmix 1](http://bootson.livejournal.com/39266.html#cutid1) by [](http://stardustonsable.livejournal.com/profile)[**stardustonsable**](http://stardustonsable.livejournal.com/)  
> [Fanmix 2](http://bootson.livejournal.com/39266.html#cutid2) by [](http://cincodemaygirl.livejournal.com/profile)[**cincodemaygirl**](http://cincodemaygirl.livejournal.com/)


End file.
